


a sky full of stars

by Itty_Bitty_Blondie



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Ice Skating, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, Kid Fic, Light Angst, Multi, Mutual Pining, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itty_Bitty_Blondie/pseuds/Itty_Bitty_Blondie
Summary: Eliot, an ex-professional ice skater is hired by the King of Fillory to help his son, Teddy, put on a holiday skating performance. As Eliot spends more time in the palace they both find themselves drawn to each other, but relationships are hard enough without a whole nation watching and Quentin has to put his country and his son above everything else.
Relationships: Kady Orloff-Diaz/Julia Wicker, Margo Hanson/Alice Quinn, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 9
Kudos: 74
Collections: Magicians Hallmark Holiday Extravaganza





	a sky full of stars

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Sky Full of Stars Art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21721375) by [leighbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leighbird/pseuds/leighbird). 



> Hi everyone, I am so excited to get to share this ball of Christmas fluff with you all! True to form this is basically just 30k of pining and mutual misunderstandings topped off with all the holiday cliche's you can think of. I've had the most fun writing it. Massive thank you to LeighBirdART for the AMAZING drawings, I am completely in love with them and I can't thank her enough for them, go check her out on Tumblr @leighbirdart. 
> 
> Also a big thank you to the MHHE organizers for putting this event together. It has helped soothe my heart over the past couple of months and reminded me why I love these characters and the fandom as a whole. 
> 
> Finally a shout out to Miriam for being a fab Beta and occasional crisis manager, I couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> Based on "Christmas at the Palace"

“Keep your arms up. And don’t forget to smile.”

“Todd, do not even attempt the triple axel, you will fuck up your ankle again.” Todd avoids Eliot’s gaze as he nods in response. It was always a little bit comforting to know that Todd hasn’t developed the ability to lie properly. 

“Tick, go get an ice pack, he’s going to try the triple axel.” Eliot snaps at his assistant coach as he brushes past, straight into one of the other skaters Brakebills had taken on for the holidays. 

“The spiral in the second section was a little bit shaky, head up next time hm.” Laura gives him a small grin and a nod in response, but Eliot is already moving forward again. 

He spins around again as he continues his search. The two small dressing rooms are nowhere near large enough to house all of the skaters, and so the tiny corridor that leads to the rink is crammed with people. 

“Seriously Josh, there's no need to be such a little bitch baby about it” Margo’s voice cut through the general hubbub. Then she was in front of him.

“Bambi, you were perfect as always” Eliot sweeps her into a tight hug. 

“Naturally” Margo grins into his shoulder. As she pulls away, however, her smile drops. 

“Come on, don’t tell me you’re getting all sentimental on me” Eliot laughs as he pulls her down the tight corridor.

Margo shoves his hip as they slip into the tiny room someone had tried to convince him was an office. 

“Tell anyone else this, and I will end you, but I’m getting a bit misty if I think about it too much. End of an era and all that.” 

“We’re not done quite yet darling” Eliot replies, turning to face her “We still have a small European country to entertain.” 

Margo still looks troubled. 

“You’re not having second thoughts are you,” he asks gently. 

“Don’t be a dickhead” Margo replies quickly. “You know I am as excited about this as you are. Also, there’s no way I’m sticking around for another season of fucking Fog.” 

Eliot grimaces at the thought of the tour’s director “One perk of running your own training centre, no sadistic alcoholic controlling the funding.” 

“Exactly” Margo grins at him. 

Eliot smiles at her gently. “It’ll be nice to stay in the same place for more than a minute, have a real Christmas for once.” 

“What’s a real Christmas?” Margo quips 

“Honestly, I have no idea. Something a little bit more sophisticated than Chinese take-out and a crappy hotel room maybe.” 

“Also, you need to finish packing all of the clothes you’ve abandoned in my room.” 

“Excuse you, they’re not abandoned” Margo replies, narrowing her eyes at him “They are strategically placed somewhere where there is more space.” 

“Well, strategic or not, you need to pack because our flight leaves at nine.” 

“Ah yes, for the small European country.” Margo wrinkles her nose. “What kind of self-respecting country is named Fillory, anyway.” 

“Tiny country, massive tourist destination” Eliot shrugs at her. 

“Well, I hope the wine is half decent at least.” 

“Bambi, it’s Europe. The wine will be fucking divine” Eliot stuffs his laptop into his bag and turns to pull her to her feet. “Just you wait. Three days and we’ll be home again.” 

*

Quentin is tired. He is desperately trying not to let his eyes close as he slouches in the back of the car, grateful for the small amount of privacy that the blacked-out windows offer him. It is snowing lightly, and even the bright market stalls with their decorations and fairy lights aren’t quite enough to counteract the chill it brings to the air. 

He lets his mind wander for a moment, away from the ridiculous schedule that is certain to be waiting for him. Most days Quentin spends hours oversaturated by other people. Most days, it is bearable. Today is not shaping up to be one of them. 

Quentin’s shoulders hunch automatically as the car pulls into the long driveway, bracing himself. 

When the car finally came to a stop, however, he is pleasantly surprised to see who is waiting for him. 

“Your Highness” Her words are formal enough, but the smug grin on her face revealed Julia’s insincerity. 

Quentin grins as he moves out of the car to join her “I swear you call me that just to be irritating.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about Sire.” 

“Jules.” 

His best friend gives a full-bodied laugh as she reaches out to hug him. “How’re you doing,” she asks quietly. 

“I’m fine Jules, I promise” Julia levels a long look at him. She can probably sense the lie, but she doesn’t call him out on it. Instead, she slips an arm through his and tugs him up the staircase. 

“I think you’re in trouble,” She says conspiratorially “Alice was very impatient.”  
Quentin winces internally. 

“Good afternoon Alice” He smiles at the blonde waiting for him at the top of the staircase. Alice gives him a tight-lipped smile in return, which only fuels the discomfort in his stomach. 

Jules gives his arm a careful squeeze once they are inside, leaving them both with a quick kiss to Quentin’s cheek and a nod to Alice.

“What have I done this time?” He asks Alice carefully as he follows her towards the offices. 

“I have no idea what you mean Q.” 

“The only time you ever greet me outside is when I’ve managed to royally piss someone off.” 

Alice smacks him on the arm. 

“What?” Q laughs “I thought it was pretty funny, all things considered.” 

The pair of them walk into Quentin’s office. The room often still feels foreign to Quentin. It’s almost wrong to sit behind his father’s desk or rifle through the bookshelves. A part of him is still expecting his mother to appear and warn him away from breaking anything too expensive like she did when he was small. 

Today Quentin is brought up short by the massive Christmas tree that has somehow been placed in front of the fire in the hour that he’s been out. 

“Where did that come from?” he questions Alice.

“Teddy asked if we’d put one in here.” 

“Of course he did. I swear we let Kady spend far too much time with him. She’s making him far too sneaky for his own good.” 

“It’s good for him” Alice smiles. 

“Well, you would say that.” 

Quentin sinks into his chair and glances over the papers on his desk. In the centre lays one of the national newspapers, and his own face, mid-yawn glaring back. Q suppresses the urge to sigh loudly. Glancing up Alice, he asks “I don't suppose there’s any chance you’re not here about this?”

“Q” Alice says gently, as she sits down. “I know you don’t like talking about it, but it’s a real problem.” 

“I know.” Quentin snaps back. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “I just don't get it, everyone loved Dad at Christmas, but I’m the Grinch.” 

“Well, that's probably got something to do with the fact that King Theodore started the Christmas Markets, the Carolling concert, The Christmas pageant.” 

“Okay, okay.” 

“Whereas when they asked you what you thought about Christmas, you said - and I quote- ‘ it’s good for the economy’” 

“Well it is” Quentin replies indignantly. 

“Q, this is the third year of this. Fillory was practically founded on Christmas. So many people rely on it. You can’t keep being seen like this, or it could start doing us some real damage”. Quentin looks down at his hands. 

“I know that Christmas can be shit for you-” 

“-It's not hard, Alice.” Quentin cuts her off “I’m just busy.”

She sighs. For a moment, Quentin thinks she might push it further but before she has a chance the door opens and Kady leans against the doorframe. 

“Ah, speak of the devil” Q quips at her. 

“I see that I’ve walked in on something interesting.” Kady replies “I’d tell you to continue, but I don’t actually care.” 

“Jules isn’t here, she ran off towards the East Wing a moment ago” Alice informs her, but Kady simply rolls her eyes in response. 

“I know that. I saw her a second ago. I come with a query from your spawn Coldwater.” 

“Do enlighten us.” 

“He wants to know if you can have dinner with us tonight.” Something deep in his chest twinges and Q turns his gaze pleadingly to Alice. 

“You’ve got your meet and greet with Mayakovsky and the delegation from the Southern Province this evening.” 

“Well can it be moved?” 

“You’ve already rescheduled. Twice” Q sighs and exchanges a long look with Kady. 

“Tell him I’ll do my best.” 

Alice and Kady appear to have another conversation with their eyebrows before Kady turns and leaves them. In the newfound silence, Quentin is briefly worried that Alice will return to their previous discussion. She usually is like a dog with a bone with these sorts of things. Something holds her tongue, however, because she only gives him one long look before switching to the speech he is supposed to be making at the market tomorrow morning. 

*

“You know what,” Margo asks.

Eliot grins at her indulgently “What, Bambi?” 

“I think this place might actually be a hallucination. It’s like something out of a damn storybook.”

Eliot looks around them, Margo isn’t wrong. From the moment they stepped off of the plane in Fillory, it has been snowing lightly. Despite this, the roads and buildings are only lightly frosted, as opposed to the knee-deep brown sludge that New York descends into every year. Every building is elegantly decorated with fairy lights twinkling inside storefronts and garlands wrapped around lampposts. Actual fucking lampposts. Even the air had a has a magical energy to it. 

“Fucking freezing” Margo had shot back at him when Eliot had been foolish enough to say that last thought out loud. He can tell she doesn’t mean it, though. Despite the prickly exterior, Margo has always been a sucker for some eggnog and a Christmas carol. 

“All it needs now are some cute boys and mistletoe, and we’re both set for the week” Margo continues as they wandered towards the market. 

“You do realise the entire country was actually founded on Christmas Eve? Knowing my luck, I’d end up stuck there with an elf.” 

“As if that would stop you.” 

“Touché” Eliot replies after thinking it over for a moment. 

Margo links their arms together and begins to steer them back towards the crowds at the market. “Come on. Best place in the world to be for last-minute Christmas shopping.” 

Eliot smiles at the carefree expression on her face and allows himself to be pulled along.

*

Quentin is tired. His meeting had managed to run long, even though he knows that nobody in attendance actually wanted to be there. All of the forced conversation and empty talk leaves him feeling drained on a good day. This was far from one of those. 

The whole time Mayakovsky had been prattling on about trade agreements Quentin had been focused on Teddy, and the constant feeling of disappointment that follows him each time he turned down dinner with his son in favour of state affairs. 

He checks his watch before breaking into a jog as he enters the family apartments. He was going to miss bedtime. As he approached Teddy’s room, Q took a moment to breathe and dispose of the jacket he had worn to the meeting. 

He needn’t have worried. Teddy is sitting in bed, eyes drooping slightly though most of his attention is focused on the rom-com playing on his tablet. As soon as Quentin’s presence registers, the tablet is sent flying to the foot of the bed as Teddy sits up to meet him. 

“How’re you doing champ?” Quentin asks, perching on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, you know” His son shrugs. On his face, Q can see his earlier hurt battle against his excitement now. Another pang of guilt shoots through him. 

“How was your skating lesson?” He tries.

Teddy lights up at the question. “It was great,” he enthuses. “Today, I’ve started learning a spiral.” 

“A spiral, wow” Quentin smiles at him as Teddy begins to chatter about his lesson and the museum that Kady had taken him to that morning. Despite the enthusiasm, he keeps interrupting himself a growing yawn. Finally, Q decides that it is time to be a responsible parent again.

“Okay Ted, time for bed, I think” Teddy pouts, but before he has the chance to protest his face splits with another yawn. 

“What about my movie?” he finally asks. Quentin reaches over the bed to retrieve the tablet, glancing down at the screen. “Ah, a Christmas movie, well Ted, I don’t think you need to watch the end to know what happens in this one. The tree will be decorated, the guy will get the girl in time for Christmas dinner.” Quentin is joking, mostly. 

“I wish you wouldn’t do that” Teddy sighs. 

“What?” Q asks, puzzled. 

“Make fun of Christmas. Everyone already knows you don’t like it, Dad. You don’t need to keep reminding them. It’s what makes them so mean.” 

“Who’s mean baby?” Quentin asks him carefully, pulling him into a hug.

“The newspaper people” Teddy replies, after a moment’s silence. Quentin sighs and hugged him closer. “You know, your Aunt Kady is supposed to stop you from reading those” 

“I’m not a little kid Dad.” 

“I know,” Quentin replies quickly. Although, at eleven, that’s precisely what Teddy was. “Sometimes, the holidays can be, well they’re difficult. Especially if you’re missing someone you love.” 

“Mamma” Teddy murmurs against his chest. Too quiet to have been meant for Quentin’s ears. For a second, Q thinks about replying, but he can’t make himself speak. Instead, he plants a kiss in Teddy’s hair and tightens his grip around him. “I love you, Ted.” He said instead. 

“I know Dad,” Teddy replies sleepily. 

Although it hadn’t been the plan, Quentin stays there, lost in thought and holding his son tightly until his mouth falls slack in sleep. He remains a little longer, tracing his features over and over, finding ghosts in the slant of his nose and the line of his jaw and desperately hoping he is doing okay. 

When he finally tucks Teddy in and creeps back into his own dark room, sleep comes slowly. 

*

“Okay, I can absolutely do this” Quentin says into the silence of the car. The speech they have planned at the Christmas market is unsettling him more than it should be. 

“Of course you can Q. It’s just a Christmas market. All you need to do is make the speech, shake some hands, wish some merry Christmases. It’ll be good.” The longer Alice speaks, the less convincing she sounds. 

“It’ll be good.” Quentin says firmly “You never know, they might stop calling me a grinch all the time too.” 

“Sure” Alice replies, still slightly unsure. 

As the car pulls into the parking lot for the Christmas Market, a flurry of camera flashes go off in the windows, making Quentin jump slightly. Then he feels foolish. He is possibly slightly tenser than he is willing to admit. 

“Right. You’ll do great.” Alice tells him as she gathers her papers. “Just, um, be yourself, and you know speak from the heart and all that.” 

“I’m not entirely sure I can do both” Quentin teases. He holds the door open for her. 

“Well then just stick to the damn script,” Alice tells him firmly, slapping a gloved hand into his chest. “Now can I trust you alone here for a minute while I go and speak to the press?” 

“I am a fully grown adult, you know Alice. I’m a King and everything.” 

“Alright smartass. Go. I promise I won’t shout at any reporters while you’re gone” 

“Not funny Q,” Alice calls out over her shoulder as she walks off towards the press pool. 

With Alice gone, all of Quentin’s false confidence evaporates all at once. He can feel his heart rate increasing and his palms getting sweaty inside his gloves. He begins to fidget with the cue cards in his pocket. At this point, he has two options, stare at the crowd slowly amassing in front of the makeshift stage he is hiding behind, or practice the speech. 

Honestly, Q had been planning on going with option A, until the sound technicians block the view. With no other options, he pulls the cards out of his pocket and begins to repeat the speech to himself. 

He finds himself pacing, doing all of the tricks the public speaking coach Julia had forced him to see last year had taught him. Waving his arms around as he speaks and pulling what feel like ridiculously exaggerated faces. That is until someone crashes into his shoulder, sending the cards flying. 

“Shit. Shit, sorry. My bad.” Comes a deep voice behind him. Q turns, expecting to see one of the thousands of overeager American tourists he has spent most of his life avoiding. He is not expecting possibly one of the most attractive men he has ever seen. The American grins at him sheepishly before ducking down to recover the speech, wiping off some of the snow. 

“Sorry” the man repeats again. “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone hiding back here.” 

“Um. I don’t, I uh I don’t really think I was hiding—” 

“Whatever you say short stuff” the man replies, a slight teasing lilt to his voice. Q is glad to see a complete lack of recognition in his eyes. A genuinely lost tourist after all. 

“Who, uh, who exactly would I be hiding from anyway?” 

“Christmas crowds?”

“Ah, if only that were an option” Quentin replies conspiratorially. 

“Not a fan of the holidays then?” 

“No, no, no. I love the holidays. Really. I’m a big fan of Christmas. The biggest” Q can feel his cheeks heating as his mouth runs away from him. “I honour Christmas with all my heart and uh and- 

“-And try to keep for all the year,” the man asks. 

“Sure. That. Wait, how did you know that?” Q replies. 

“You were muttering it, before?” The man raised an eyebrow at him. “Really believable. Good job” 

“Good. It’s believable because it’s true” Q tries. 

“Sure” the guy doesn’t seem any more convinced than Alice had been earlier. “Well, good luck with…whatever this is that you’re doing.”

“I don’t need luck, but uh, thanks” Quentin replies with a smile. The guy shakes his head, giving him a sceptical look as he disappears into an alleyway leaving Q alone to stare at the cards again. 

This is fine Quentin thinks to himself I can absolutely do this, it’s one speech. He was struggling to convince himself, but there’s no time to freak out properly because Alice is returning from the press pool, and pushing him onto the stage. 

Funnily enough, it was not fine at all. He trips before he reaches the podium, which puts him off for the rest of the speech. He messes up the D-section completely. Finally, he manages to subtly insult Christmas again during the impromptu question session at the end. 

Quentin can sense Alice’s disappointment even before they get in the car. She doesn’t say anything, though. She just holds his hand tightly, and they sit together in silence for the journey back to the palace. 

*

“Good luck,” Eliot calls as he continues down the corridor. It is finally beginning to sink in that this is their actual last show with Breakbills. Nobody has ever accused him of being sentimental. Breakbills was not his dream job. There is no reason for him to be getting emotional about it now. 

“El, head out of ass please” Margo calls as she brushes past him. 

“You're gonna be wonderful as always Bambi.” He replies “It's gonna be great.”

“It's our last show,” Margo says carefully, in her voice that means she knows something is going on that Eliot doesn’t want to tell her about. 

“It's a good thing.” Eliot says weakly “We're finally going home.”

In all honesty, he isn’t sure why he is having such a hard time believing it. 

“I know. You're right.” She replies, neutrally. 

“We'll have stability.”

“-Yes.”

“- We'll plant roots.”

“And we can finally have a social life again.” Eliot nods slightly, though he isn’t sure if anyone in New Jersey can quite be considered friends. 

“We could even push the boat out and try dating again.” Margo glances at him through her lashes. 

“- I think the curtain's going up.” Eliot pushes her in the direction of the rink. 

“-Yeah, of course, you do.”

“- Good luck.” 

“Thank you, baby.” Margo smiles blindingly at him before blending into the crush of skaters. He stands there, just for a moment, desperately trying to catalogue the feeling of the moment even as its slipping away. 

“Eliot” Tick’s shout from behind him breaks the moment entirely. Eliot sighs and turns to face his assistant, already bracing himself against the constant urge to strangle him.

“What can I do for you, Tick?” 

“Well Sir, we’ve had a call from the palace-“ Eliot sighs internally, nodding for Tick to go ahead.

*

The show goes off without a hitch. Everything falls into place, even Todd manages not to fuck anything up, which is a Christmas miracle in itself. The excitement from the cast is contagious, and Eliot finds himself swept up with the rest of them. Tick produces a bottle of champagne from somewhere, and soon everyone is chatting and laughing.

“Congratulations on not fucking up El.” 

Margo appears at his elbow. She’s had time to change into an oversized sweater, but her hair is still pulled back in the tight bun for the performance. Something about the contrast makes him think of the two of them as teenagers; overeager and driven and so painfully young. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Bambi.” 

He doesn’t just mean today. 

“Damn straight.” 

There is a witty comeback in there somewhere, but Eliot is interrupted before the line is fully formed.

“Excuse me. Hello, are you by any chance...” Eliot turns to see the woman who spoke. She’s pretty, with a warm face. He is just about to ask who she is when another voice interjects.

“Eliot Waugh!” The boy next to her, almost shouts. His eyes are bright, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement. It’s cute as fuck.

“I am he.” He directs towards the boy. 

“Julia Whitaker” The woman –Julia—says, holding out a hand. 

“Hey, It’s great to meet you,” Eliot says, shaking her hand. He can see Margo circling out of the corner of his eye. He knew he should have given her a heads up, but watching her figure it out is too much fun. 

Julia turns to the woman behind her “This is my partner Kady.” 

Kady is a little intimidating, but her eyes are kind when she smiles at him “Thank you so much for inviting us backstage.” 

“Of course.” He turns back to the kid “And you must be Prince Theodore.” He can see the moment it registers on Margo’s face who they are talking to, and he smiles to himself. He’s absolutely going to give her shit for this later. 

“Just Teddy.” The kid is almost shy now. 

“This is Margo Hanson,” Eliot says, turning to introduce her. 

“- Lovely to meet you.”  
“- Wonderful to meet you.” Kady and Julia talk over each other. 

“- Wonderful show,” Julia says, shaking Margo’s hand.

“Should we curtsy?” Margo mutters to him. Eliot tries to shake his head subtlety. 

“I can't believe I'm meeting you.” Teddy says in a rush “You're a three-time world champion. Didn't you almost go to the Olympics?” 

“Almost.” Eliot was absolutely not expecting the prince of Fillory to know his career history, so he should absolutely be forgiven for his weak response. 

“But you weren't in the show. Did you stop skating?” Teddy presses on. 

“I did. I just choreograph now.” Eliot replies lightly. 

“And by that, he means choreograph, train, and constantly put out fires.”

“Margo—I mean, Miss Hansen? – I'm a huge fan. I love your routines.” Margo takes a long look at him. Eliot can pinpoint the moment Margo melts for the kid. 

“Margo is fine, and thank you” She smiles at him. 

“I hear you're being coached. Learning any new tricks?” Eliot asks Teddy. 

“A spiral,” Teddy says sheepishly. 

“Well, pro tip: A good spiral's all about a great banana position.” 

“Could you show me? I have a rink at the palace.” 

“You have a rink at the palace,” Eliot replies slowly, exchanging a long look with Margo. 

“We could skate. I could give you a tour?” Teddy turns back to Julia with a questioning gaze. She smiles at them and nods. 

“Well, we were sad that we missed the public tours,” Margo says, haltingly. 

“Well, then you must come to visit us,” Julia replies. “I’m sure we can manage something a little better than the standard tours.” 

Eliot runs through their schedule for the rest of the trip. They fly back tomorrow morning, so it would have to be some time today. “This afternoon?” he suggests. 

“Yeah, that would be great.” Teddy beams. 

“Lovely! We’ll send a car for you.” Julia offers. 

*

They do send a car, it's sleek and black, and Kady is sitting in the front passenger seat. 

As they travel to the palace, Kady starts telling them all about the country, some of the history and the best restaurants in town. 

After a couple of minutes, they turn into a long drive that winds up to one of the most beautiful buildings Eliot has ever seen. It is large and imposing, with columns lining the walls and a large sweeping staircase and intricate layers of balconies at the front. 

The car pulls around the side to a smaller entrance where Julia and Teddy are waiting for them. 

When they get inside a man in a uniform appears almost immediately to take their coats “Thank you.” Eliot says absently, too distracted by the ornate surroundings. It looks exactly like you would expect a palace to look, high ceilings and elaborate carpets. 

True to her word Julia starts to guide them on a tour, Teddy chipping in every so often to tell them about the best spots for hide and seek, or some of the hidden doors that the staff use to move about the castle unnoticed. 

About halfway through the tour, Eliot needs the bathroom, badly. They don’t seem to be coming to a natural stopping point at all, so he has to ask. 

“Excuse me. Where's your bathroom?”

“It's up the stairs to the right, third door on the left,” Julia replies kindly. “We’ll wait here for you and then we can head down to the rink. 

Eliot nods once and turns back towards the large sweeping staircase. Like everything else in the palace, it is magnificent. Eliot can’t help but admire the décor again. There are yet more paintings on the walls, and the tasteful Christmas decorations continue along the upstairs corridor. It’s lined with tall windows, overlooking snow-covered gardens. Everything about it is so picturesque he almost forgets why he is there in the first place. 

”Okay. Third door on the left.” Re-focusing he retraces his steps which proves to be a problem, there are so many doors, all of which look entirely too elaborate to be for the bathroom. 

Rather than admitting defeat and retreating to ask for better instructions, Eliot decides to commit. He picks the door that looks the most promising and walks straight into an office. An office occupied by the cute guy from the market.

“You?” He manages. 

“You. Um, What are you doing here?” The cute guy asks. 

Rather than saying something intelligent, or asking for directions, Eliot gapes at him like a fish, before making a vague hand gesture towards the door. 

“Oh, You're on a tour.” Cute guy gets up from the armchair he had been sitting in and walks towards Eliot. 

“Yeah, I got a little lost.” Cute guy is wearing a very well-tailored suit, Eliot has to stop himself from staring “What are you doing here?” he asks defensively. 

“Well, I work here.” Cute guy says with a self-deprecating smile, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind his ear. Fuck he’s really cute. 

“You work in the palace,” Eliot says instead. “Like for the king?”

“Something like that.” Cute guy replies, pulling a face. 

“The king. Cool. What's he like?” Eliot wants to kick himself slightly, almost anything would have made him sound like less of a tourist. 

“Magnanimous and beloved. That sort of thing.” 

“Well, I'm sure it's amazing to work in this palace. It's gorgeous.” 

Eliot takes a look around the office for the first time, like everywhere else in the palace it is almost overflowing with wreaths and garlands. He grins down at Cute Guy again. “Between you and me, I think it could do with a few extra Christmas decorations.”

“'Course you would.” Eliot smiles at that.

“So can I help with where you're headed?”

“Thanks, but I'm good,” Eliot replies, determined to save what is left of his dignity. 

“Of course you are.” Cute guy says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Right.” Eliot breaks their eye contact. “I’m gonna…” He gestures towards the door. 

“’ Course,” cute guy says with a grin.

Eliot decides that now is probably the best opportunity he is going to get to leave with some of his dignity intact, so he leaves with a slightly awkward wave.

Back in the corridor, Eliot tries the next door, with less confidence than before and reveals the bathroom. He is filled with relief, but also with the realisation that he’d been gone for significantly too long, so he should probably get a move on. 

When he gets back downstairs, Julia is waiting for him at the foot of them. 

“There you are.” She says with a smile. 

\- Sorry. I got lost.”

“- Oh, no need to apologize.” She soothes “I've lived here my entire life, and I still get lost. Now, Teddy and Margo are at the rink, so I'll take us.”

She leads Eliot through more, endless corridors until they reach the rink. It’s beautiful, a full arena complete with ornate wooden stands and chandeliers above the ice itself. Margo is just as blown away by it all as Eliot is. 

“Teddy, this is amazing,” Eliot says finally, grinning when the kid’s cheeks flush scarlet in response.

“Do you ever put on shows here?” Margo asks.

“No.” Teddy looks wistful “Well, actually, my grandpa did want to host a show here. An ice skating pageant for Founder's Day.” There’s a look of something that flashes across his face, but it’s gone before Eliot can work out what it means. 

They all spend another hour at the rink watching Teddy skate, Margo even joins him on the ice for a bit. 

The whole afternoon is like something out of a dream. Eliot pinches himself as they are leaving, just to make sure it’s not all one very complex hallucination. 

“Well that certainly beats the tour,” Margo says to him with a grin once they’re back in their hotel. 

“Definitely beats the tour.” Eliot agrees with her. 

*

“- Daddy.” Teddy cries as he throws himself across the room at Quentin

“- I'm sorry I missed dinner,” Quentin says to him gently.

“That's fine, but I have a question.”

The innocent smile on Teddy’s face is instantly suspicious. His posture is off as well. He is far too still, and his face has that wide-eyed look he gets when he wants something. 

Quentin feels like he’s walking himself into a trap as he replies “Yes?” 

“Do you remember how Grandpa used to talk about hosting an ice skating pageant for Founder's Day?” 

“Yes,” he says slowly. 

“Well, what if we hosted it?” 

That’s…Quentin thinks about it. That is not what he had been expecting at all. A pageant, however, is a brilliant idea. Alice will be annoyed that she wasn’t the one to come up with it in the first place. 

“That's a marvellous idea.” Teddy beams at him. 

“We'll start planning after Christmas—” 

“—No, not for the next Founder's Day. For this Founder's Day.” Teddy interrupts him. 

Ah. 

“Teddy, Founder's Day is on Christmas Eve, and that's two weeks away. A pageant would be a massive production.” Quentin says gently.

“But the figure skating stars are here – Margo and Eliot came to the rink today. They could do it.” Teddy pleads. 

“And I'll inquire with them for next Founder's Day.”

“But, Dad, then everyone will be calling you a grinch for a whole year, and that's not who you are, and everyone should know that.”

The look on Teddy's face makes something in his chest constrict. He knows that the press can be unkind, but as an adult, he also knows that these things come and go. Teddy doesn’t have any of that, all he sees are people talking badly about his dad. Quentin feels awful. 

“Teddy-bear... I'll talk these ice skaters, all right?” Quentin says, and finally, teddy relaxes a little. 

“Good.”

Quentin pushes him back towards the bed and tucks him in wordlessly. “Good night, Teddy-bear. I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy,” Ted says, already half asleep. 

“Bye.”

“Bye. Merry Christmas.” 

He will speak to Alice in the morning. Putting on an entire pageant in less than two weeks was a ridiculous proposition. There is absolutely no way that anyone, professional or no, will agree to such a ridiculous plan. Still, at least then he can tell Teddy he tried. 

*

The next morning Eliot and Margo are up early, frantically trying to pack their bags before they have to leave for their flight. They are in such a hurry to leave on time that they almost run headfirst into a well-dressed blonde woman in the lobby. 

Eliot looks up to apologise, but she already seems to know who they are. 

“Mr Waugh, Miss...”

“Hanson.” Margo finishes, an uncertain smile forced on her face. 

The woman is stood next to a black saloon car, the windows are tinted, and the driver is wearing sunglasses. It looks imposing. The general impression is not helped at all by the next words she says.

“The king has requested a word with you at the palace.” 

“- We have to catch our flight.” Margo tries. 

“- Don't worry.” The woman replies, opening one of the doors. “We'll make sure it doesn't leave without you.”

Eliot exchanges a long look with Margo. Their options appear to be severely limited, so they really have little choice but to get into the car. The journey can’t take more than twenty minutes, but it feels much longer. Neither of them speaks, they just sit ramrod straight, hands in their laps. If Eliot’s heart weren’t beating so quickly, if sweat weren’t prickling at his palms, the whole situation would be comical. 

The woman sits in the passenger seat. In the uncomfortable silence, Eliot has more time to study her. Her bright blonde hair is cut in a sharp bob, and the thick black glasses, combined with the pantsuit, make her look severe. She is pretty, though. Her eyes are kind beneath her glasses, and her bone structure is enviable. 

Margo’s type. A voice in the back of his head supplies. Eliot suppresses a smile as he notices Bambi studying her as well. The amusement is a distraction from the general sense of terror. 

Eventually, the car turns off the road and onto a long drive. Eliot recognises it as the same route they took the day before with Teddy and Julia. A couple of moments later, the castle comes into view. It is just as imposing and as beautiful as the day before. 

Once the car pulls up, they are rushed into the foyer. This time they are in a different part of the castle. The woman asks them to stay put as she walks off into one of the offices. 

“Do you think we fucked up at some point yesterday?” Margo hisses at him as the woman rounds the corner. 

“If this is the dungeon, lock me up,” Eliot replies, staring up at the decoration. 

The hallway is somehow even more impressive than what they had seen the day before. The moulding on the ceiling is more elaborate, inlaid with gold and the walls are decorated with a couple of tasteful paintings. 

“I can't believe we're going to meet the king,” Margo says, gaping at their surroundings. She takes a moment to think, before rounding on Eliot. “Let's just be on our best behaviour, yeah?” 

Her voice is teasing, but Eliot can sense the intention behind the words. 

“What, me?” He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offence, earning him an eye roll. 

“Let's just not offend anyone or break anything.”

“Of course Bambi, scouts honour.” 

Margo smiles at him brightly “Now I know you were never a boy scout.”

Eliot is about to reply, following the familiar patterns of this conversation, but at that point, the woman returns. 

“Please follow me” She gestures to follow her, and they both fall in line. 

She leads them upstairs, and then along a vaguely familiar corridor, bright with natural light from the floor-length windows along one side. Finally, she leads them into an office and gestures to them to sit in front of the giant Christmas tree in the corner. Eliot has the creeping realisation that this, too, is familiar.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The door opens quickly and in walks the same cute guy as before. He seems just as surprised as Eliot.

“- You?” They say at the same time. 

“What are you doing here?” The cute guy asks, and Eliot really needs to get his name. It’s a little ridiculous at this point. 

“I'm meeting the...” He trails off, the pieces of the puzzle finally fall together. “You're the king.” 

“Should we curtsy?” Margo asks from his elbow. 

“So you're the Eliot and Margo that my son won’t stop talking about.” Cute guy—King Quentin—says. 

“I'm Eliot, and this is Margo,” Eliot replies, redundantly 

“Well, nice to see you again.” The king says politely. “Shall we get to the business at hand?” 

The business at hand would be excellent, as absolutely none of this is currently making any sense to Eliot. 

“So my son has gotten an idea to host an ice-skated retelling of our country's founding. It'll be performed on Founder's Day, which is the day before Christmas Eve, and it's 13 days from now.”

“- That's ambitious,” Eliot says faintly. 

“- I think so too.” King Quentin smiles, just as cute as before, “He would love you both to star in it, choreograph, and coach. I know it's a tall order, but I promised my son I'd ask. However, I understand how highly illogical and quite impossible, it all could be.”

It is illogical. Organising an entire production to the standard the King was no doubt expecting would be a massive undertaking. They would have to cast, choreograph and advertise it. Eliot wants to do it, for entirely irrational reasons which is how he knows that they absolutely cannot do it. 

“- We'll do it.”  
“- No.” 

He and Margo say in unison. Eliot turns to glare at her, but instead of backing down she raises a perfect eyebrow at him. 

“I'm sorry we can't.” 

“Well, what's your final answer?” The king looks between them both bemused. 

“- Yes.”  
“- No.” They say in unison once again. 

The King looks outright confused by them now. Eliot has to put a stop to this back and forth before they look any more ridiculous. 

“Would you excuse us for a second?” He asks, not waiting for a response before pulling Margo back towards the door. As soon as they are out in the hallway, she yanks her arm out of his grip and rounds on him. 

“El, what are you doing? Skating in a pageant in a palace. That's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” Margo hisses at him. 

“To put on a pageant in 13 days?” He says incredulously. “Plus, we said we'd be home for Christmas this year.”

Margo rolls her eyes at him.

“Fillory’s like walking into a snow globe. What could be better than that?” 

“- Being home.” He tries, already knowing that the argument is not going to work. 

Margo’s eyes glint in victory, she knows that he’s got nothing. She’s about to tell him as much when they are interrupted by a polite cough. 

The blonde woman is back again. 

“If you've decided to leave, then a car is waiting to take you to the airport. However, if you're still considering, the Crown's offer for your services. If you need some more time, I can simply reschedule your flight to leave tomorrow.” She hands them a heavy cream envelope. 

“We've already checked out of our hotel.” Eliot tries in the last-ditch effort to get them back on course. 

The woman smiles again. “While you're in Fillory, you shall be a guest of the Crown.”

“Wait.” Margo gapes “You mean we'd be staying here?” She gestures at the grounds out the window. 

“I wouldn't get too excited. Gets quite drafty.” The woman replies conspiratorially, before turning to leave. 

“Wait,” Margo calls “I didn’t catch your name.”

“I’m Alice, King Quentin’s private secretary.” The woman–Alice–replies. 

Margo waits until Alice walks back into the office before huffing dramatically. “She is so cute.” She turns pleading eyes up towards Eliot and sticks her bottom lip out slightly. They maintain intense eye contact for a moment until it becomes too much, and Eliot has to look away. 

“Oh, come on! Don't you wanna stay at a palace?” Margo snaps. 

“No! I wanna stay in my own bed. And there's nothing that's gonna make me wanna change my mind.” Eliot sounds like a child. He is fully aware that it is happening, but there’s also nothing he can do to avoid it. 

Margo pulls a face, before turning her attention to the envelope in her hands. She turns it over a couple of times before opening it. She looks down at the letter, and her eyes widen. 

“What about this?” She offers the card out to Eliot. 

The number on the paper is generous, incredibly generous. It would more than cover the start-up costs for their ice rink a traitorous voice in the back of his head whispers. 

“That's a very generous offer.” He says finally. 

“El, this is the money that we need for the ice rink.” Margo jabs a finger at the paper. 

“What exactly does the pageant entail?” Eliot sighs. 

“I'll go find out.” She bounces up onto her toes to kiss him on the cheek before disappearing into the office. 

Eliot knows that he’s lost. He probably didn’t have a chance in the first place in all honesty. He takes a deep breath before following her in. Alice is accommodating, she gives them a rundown of the budget, the performance space and the logistics of the event. 

“What about the story?” Eliot asks “The king mentioned something about a founders day?” 

“The story of the founding of Fillory” Alice nods “Prince Theodore has a vision for that, so he would probably be the best person to ask. I can have someone take you to him.” 

“Thank you, that would be very helpful,” Eliot replies, already looking forward to seeing the kid again. 

They talk with Alice for a couple more minutes, before she leads them further into the palace. She leads them into a library where Julia and Teddy are sitting around a table. At the sight of Eliot and Margo, he leaps to his feet and bounds over to them, grin already plastered on his face. 

“Have you decided to stay?” he asks eagerly.

“Not quite yet. We were hoping to find out a little bit more about your vision for the pageant, about the stories that we'd be telling, something like that.” 

“Of course.” Teddy nods his head vigorously, sending his hair flying everywhere. 

“Originally, Fillory wasn't a kingdom, but it was a large estate of a wealthy family: Rupert, Jane and Martin Chatwin.” Julia supplies from behind them. 

Margo, Eliot and Teddy join her closer to the fire, and they all take a seat. 

“Well, about 500 years ago, there was a terrible avalanche in the kingdom across the lake. It destroyed a village, and all the villagers had to flee their homes. So when Rupert found out about this, he set off with a team on horseback to rescue them.” Julia starts “Well when they hadn't returned after several days, Jane and Martin, who was about Teddy’s age, decided to set off and find them.”

“So Jane and Martin skated across the frozen lake to find Rupert and the villagers snowed in, and then they brought them to Fillory,” Teddy interjects. Julia smiles at him, indulgently before continuing. 

“Where they all celebrated Christmas together. And they stayed through the winter, and in spring, they didn't want to leave, so they declared our family the royal family, and that is how the kingdom of Fillory was born.”

“That's the story we tell in the pageant,” Teddy says with a firm nod. “And then maybe the pageant would be a new Christmas tradition my dad gives the country.”

Julia smiles at him sadly. She reaches out to ruffle his hair slightly. 

“Then everyone would stop calling him a Grinch because he's not a Grinch at all. He's not who people think he is. He's funny and nice, and the best dad and everyone should know that.” Teddy continues. To start with he is almost talking to himself, but then he looks Eliot dead in the eye and continues. “And maybe the pageant could remind him how much he loves Christmas, and then he'll do Christmas stuff.” 

Something in Eliot’s chest twinges at the vulnerability in his eyes. 

“You don't do Christmas stuff?” He asks gently. 

“In the past few years, the palace's Christmas festivities have been, well, more for formality's sake.” Julia says haltingly “Photo ops and a very stuffy and traditional Christmas Eve dinner.”

“You don't decorate a Christmas tree or bake Christmas cookies?” Margo asks, directing the question at Teddy. 

“We used to do that with my grandfather and my mom,” Teddy says wistfully. 

“Come on.” Julia distracts him, “Enough chatting, you have homework to finish mister.” Teddy pulls a face but obediently moves back to the table. 

“See? Teddy just wants a real Christmas, like somebody else I know.” Margo raises her eyebrows at him.

He sighs “I’m thinking about it Bambi, I promise. 

She sighs but doesn’t push it any further. They stay with Julia, picking up their conversation from the day before. While they are talking, Eliot starts to sketch some ideas out in his notebook. He can feel Margo eyeing him, but she doesn’t push. 

About half an hour later, Alice returns and offers to take them to their rooms. 

“I believe you have all you need,” Alice says with a nod. 

“Thank you,” Eliot sighs.

“And thank you,” Alice tells them surprisingly earnestly, “I shall take my leave. Eight AM tomorrow, for breakfast, remember.”

“Yes, yes, We'll be there.”

They both nod and she leaves them with one of the men in fancy uniforms. 

“Your room, Sir.” The man leads Eliot into what can only be described as a suite it is situated so that the setting sun bathes the room in an almost ethereal haze – and what an apartment it is.

Eliot almost moans contentedly at the sight of the bed, much wider than he will ever need, and the armchair by the window – and is that a small balcony?! There is an entirely too luxurious desk, his suitcases waiting by it, and the door to what looks like his own bathroom, and a wardrobe...

“Is this... is this ours?” he stutters, looking up at the guard. 

“Miss Hansen has the adjoining suite.” 

“Of course.” Margo looks up at him in surprise glee. 

The guard smiles and nods, and leaves them alone – the second the door closes behind him, Eliot throws himself onto the bed, flinging his head back and groaning, half disbelief, half joy. His head is threatening to burst with all the new knowledge, and he can't quite believe that a couple of hours ago they were planning to head back to New Jersey.

Margo flops onto the bed beside him. “Can we stay here forever?” 

“No, but we can stay until the pageant.” 

“Really!” Margo squeals, moving over to tackle him in an embrace. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She smacks a messy kiss on his lips, and Eliot pushes her off, laughing. 

“I assume you want to be the one to let Alice know?” Eliot asks. 

Margo sits up sharply. “Absolutely,” 

She disappears into her own room, leaving Eliot alone on the bed. He stares at the ceiling for a moment, breathing deeply. He tries—and fails—to paint a mental map of where on the premises he is right now. Really, enjoying himself a bit too much, considering the fact that this could all still be a dream. 

If it’s not, then they have a mammoth task in front of them in the morning. 

*

The next morning Alice tracks them both down at breakfast again and gives them a proper tour as well as security badges so they can move around the palace alone. Finally, she leads them to a small office near the rink. 

“We had this cleared out for you, is there anything else you need?”  
“No, thank you, Alice, you’ve been more than helpful,” Margo replies with a bright smile. 

Eliot rolls his eyes at her flirting and turns to the room instead. It’s small by the palace’s standards, but there is still enough room for a couple of desks and a full-sized whiteboard. The walls are lined with shelves that he is sure will come in handy later. 

Eliot dumps his bag on one of the benches near the door and makes his way over to one of the desks and gets to work. 

A couple of hours later, the massive task in front of them is starting to look plausible. 

“Okay, I've choreographed some simple numbers we'll weave through Fillory’s founding story,” Eliot says finally. 

“Perfect.” Margo looks up from her laptop. 

“I will start on costumes, crew, props, sets, and you're on casting and scheduling rehearsals?” Eliot continues 

“Yeah. I have try-outs for the villagers starting in about an hour.” Margo replies. 

“And you're gonna play, Jane?” 

“Well, of course. I was born for the role.” She gives him an overly dramatic curtsy “And it'll be fun to skate with Teddy. I assume he's playing Martin?” 

Eliot frowns at his notepad. “Julia actually said that Teddy wanted to hold try-outs for Martin.” 

Margo also looks slightly confused, “I guess Teddy just wants to be fair. That's sweet.”

“Hmm,” Eliot replies noncommittally. Something about it doesn’t quite add up for Eliot, but he doesn’t have the time to think about it in too much detail now. “Okay, so I'm going to head into town to work on the set décor and costumes.”

“And I'm heading to the rink.” Margo turns to grab her bag from beside the door. “See? We're doing this.” She calls out as she reaches the door. 

“12 days? No problem.” Eliot replies, sarcastically. 

“We'll get this thing done. It is the season of miracles.” Margo replies “Also, I talked to the real estate broker who's finding us the rink. She's starting to put out feelers.”

“Exciting.” 

As Margo opens the door, she almost runs headfirst into Kady. 

“Eliot, Margo Hi, I wanted to offer my assistance in organizing the pageant. However, I can help let me know.”

“Thank you.” 

“I've always had a thing for musical theatre, and this seems pretty much the same, only colder, on ice.” Kady offers, which makes Eliot laugh.  
“Do you want to come and watch the try-outs?” Margo offers, “The villagers are this morning.” 

“Okay, sure.” Kady agrees. 

As the girls leave Eliot gathers his own things. The first place Eliot heads is back into town, to one of the many Christmas themed stores they had wandered through a couple of days before. When he enters the store, the elf behind the counter greets him with an overly cheerful “Merry Christmas!” 

He returns the sentiment, albeit with a little less enthusiasm, before getting down to business. “I am organising ice skating pageant for Founder's Day for the Royal Family, I was hoping you might be able to be our knight in shining armour and rent set decorations out to us?” 

The guy behind the counter smiles brightly “No need to rent. We'll be happy to donate.”

“- Really?” Eliot asks, slightly disbelieving.

“- Of course. What sort of thing are you looking for?” 

Eliot launches into a description of the set items they need and managing to get a recommendation for a seamstress to help alter the costumes Fogg had let them take from the Breakbills wardrobe department. In fact, Eliot finds himself so swept up in the buzz of the brainstorm he almost doesn’t notice it when Tony – the elf – falls into wide-eyed silence. 

Eliot turns and then finds himself face to face with— “Your Majesty.” He dips his head in an approximation of a bow. King Quentin looks incredibly flustered and waves him off quickly. 

“What brings you here?” 

“Pageant prep. You?”

“I'm just running errands.” 

Eliot looks up at him incredulously “- Kings run errands?”

“Not typically, but I came to pick up the Christmas presents for the palace staff.” 

The tips of his ears are flushing pink, which somehow makes him look even cuter than before, which Eliot thinks is just blatantly unfair. “That's really sweet of you.” 

“You don't have to look so surprised.”

Eliot pulls an apologetic face at him, “What are you getting everyone?”

“A specially-made card and a monetary gift.”

Ah. “You're getting the staff money?” Eliot asks uncertainly. Honestly, he’s a little disappointed at this dent in the image of a nerdy, slightly sentimental monarch that had been building in his head until this point. 

“It's traditional. And practical.” The king counter’s defensive. 

“It sounds like a generous gift” Eliot replies, insincerely, “but maybe you should consider adding a personal touch.”

The King furrows his eyebrows and gives him a long look. “Well, I appreciate your unsolicited advice.” He finally says. 

The tone makes Eliot wince internally. Insulting a monarch – even a cute one – probably isn’t the worst thing he’s ever done but given that said monarch is currently paying for his entire future, shutting up seems like an increasingly attractive option. 

They stare at each other in silence for another couple of seconds. “I should run,” Eliot says finally. “Thank you.” He says to Tony, and the other man nods politely, still a little dazed. 

“Good day.” King Quentin says finally, turning towards the counter as Eliot leaves the store. 

The interaction stays with Eliot as he runs through the other errands on the list. The list itself doesn’t take too much of his time, though Eliot takes his time wandering from store to store. Each one has a slightly different style to their decorations, variations in the patterns and colours. He sketches a couple in his notebook when he stops for lunch and hopes that it’ll remind him to ask someone at the palace about the significance, they might fit well in the pageant decorations. 

That afternoon Eliot and Margo hold try-outs for most of the main cast. There are plenty of people there, it turns out ice skating is a pretty popular hobby in a nation founded on Christmas, who would have guessed? 

The one person they don’t see, however, is Teddy. Something about it doesn’t sit right with Eliot. Nepotism has never been his thing, but the entire performance is happening because of the kid. Putting it on without him feels wrong. 

Mind made up, Eliot sets off on a mission. The people most likely to be helpful are Julia and Kady, so Eliot begins his hunt. It takes him a while. He gets distracted by the rooms more than a couple of times, the sheer size of some of them is breath-taking. After a couple of wrong turns and an unexpected trip to the kitchens, he finds himself in one of the smaller library’s. This one has fewer books, but plenty of overstuffed couches, on one Julia sits, book in one hand and the other resting in Kady’s hair. The other woman is lying across the couch, head in her girlfriend’s lap. She gives Eliot a small wave as he approaches them. 

“Julia, have you seen Teddy?” He calls out to her. 

Julia looks up from the book she is reading, “He finished his homework and ran off to the rink.” She says with a slight eye roll. 

“Thank you.” Eliot turns on his heel and continues in that direction. 

When he walks into the rink, it seems empty for a moment, before he notices Teddy standing at the edge of the ice. Eliot waits for a couple of seconds, hoping that he’ll skate. 

It only takes a moment before his patience is rewarded. Teddy’s good, young obviously and a little shaky with some of the bigger moves, but he has the spirit of the routine, that innate ability that can’t be taught by all of the fancy trainers in the world. 

Eliot claps when Teddy comes to a stop. 

“You were amazing! That was great.” He says sincerely. “Why weren't you at try-outs?”

Teddy skates over to the gate, not meeting his eyes. “Because I don't want to play Martin” he replies finally. 

“Why not?”

“I guess everyone will be watching, and what if I mess up?”

Eliot’s heart breaks for him, just a little bit. 

“Everyone messes up sometimes. Back when I was skating, I used to be so worried about messing up my jumps. But Margo would always remind me that in competition, you get points for trying. It doesn't matter if you fall. And she would also tell me, and I really wish I had listened to her while I was skating, it doesn't matter if you mess up. All that matters is that you love being out on the ice.” 

Teddy leans on the wall of the rink, face thoughtful. 

“And I hate to typecast you, but you're an incredible skating prince, and the pageant needs an incredible skating prince.”

That earns him a laugh. 

“You'll be coaching the skaters?” Teddy asks slowly, eyes wide. 

“Yeah. We'll have lots of time to work together.” Eliot reassures him. “So?”

Teddy thinks about it for another long moment before nodding. 

“Okay.”

“Yes! High-five!” He holds his hand out to Teddy, who narrows his eyes at it. 

“I'm not sure princes are supposed to high-five.” He says earnestly. 

“Okay. Low-five?” He tries, moving his hand to waist height. This time the kid does slap their hands together, though he looks around sheepishly as he does it. 

“Shall we start with your spiral?” 

Teddy nods eagerly and heads back onto the ice. It’s nice, Eliot thinks briefly, to really feel like he’s doing something for once, that he is using his skills for something good. There’s something magical about Teddy’s enthusiasm and the sheer unbridled joy he gets out of skating. The more time they spent together, the more he can feel something in his own chest loosening. 

It feels almost like a new beginning. 

*

For the first time this week, Quentin is free before five in the evening. It gives him the perfect opportunity to hunt down Teddy and alleviate some of the guilt that has been building for missing out on so much at this time of the year. When he isn’t with Jules and Kady, or hiding in his room, Quentin heads down to the rink. 

Teddy has no idea, but secretly watching him skate is one of Q’s favourite pastimes. It feels a little invasive every time he does it, so he tries to keep the visits to a minimum. It’s just nice to see his son so carefree for once, without the tension that comes from wanting to show off for Quentin whenever he knows that he’s being watched. 

What Q doesn’t expect is for someone else to already be at the rink. 

He watches Eliot talk to Teddy carefully, convince him to do the thing that he loves, just because he loves it. He also does it better than Quentin ever could, which he is not jealous of. 

Mostly, he’s just profoundly grateful that Eliot can handle the situation. It’s reassuring to know that he won’t push Teddy or anyone else further than they can handle. Who knows, this completely ludicrous plan might even play out okay.  
If watching his son is invasive, then watching someone else as well is too far for Q. He heads back to the family wing in search of Julia, hoping to get the chance to spend a bit of quality time together. Later he’ll thank Eliot. 

Later turns out to be the next evening. Q walks past the office which has been transformed into pageant HQ and sees Eliot glaring at a whiteboard covered in dashes and circles.

“How's the planning?” He asks from the doorway. 

Eliot swivels around to face him, a bright smile already in place. “Well, despite being highly illogical and quite impossible, it's going well.” He gestures for Quentin to join him in the room. 

He is wearing thin wire-rimmed glasses that Quentin hasn’t seen before, he can’t help but notice that they look good. Really good. 

Not the time Coldwater. 

“Good.” He replies, pushing the door shut behind him as he enters. “I overheard you at the ice rink yesterday with Teddy.”

“- I hope I didn't overstep,” Eliot says quickly. 

“No, not at all...” Q cuts him off quickly “Actually, I wanted to thank you. He can be tough on himself and take himself too seriously. It's been hard for him. He lost his mother four years ago and his grandfather six months after that. And he knows that despite being a child, everyone sees him as the person who will be king. I just know that skating is truly the place where he can just be himself.”

Eliot smiles at him wistfully “I understand that feeling.”

“Well, thank you.” 

Quentin gets up to leave, but Eliot stops him before he makes it even halfway across the room. 

“You know, he's putting this pageant on for you.”

Ah. Quentin sighs, turning back to face Eliot. He wishes it was unbelievable, but it sounds so like his son. 

“I had my suspicions, with the whole Grinch King fiasco.” He says finally. Leaning against one of the tables. 

“Yeah. He thinks you're pretty great, wants everyone else to know too.” Eliot says with a grin. “But I think he also hopes this pageant will remind you how much you love Christmas and then get you into the holiday spirit.” 

The honesty takes Quentin back for a moment, unused as he is to other people’s input. That angle was one that he had genuinely not considered, but it made a lot of sense. For the first year, they had both been distinctly lacking in holiday cheer, and then they were… out of practice, for lack of a better term. It makes perfect sense that Teddy would want to help in this arena too. 

“I'll give it some thought. And as ever, I appreciate your unsolicited advice.” He says to Eliot who grins at him sheepishly. 

“Good night, Eliot.” 

“Good night, Your Majesty.” The formality feels out of place, given the information Quentin had just shared with him. 

“Just Q.”

Eliot nods solemnly

“Good night, Q.” 

The warm feeling he gets from hearing Eliot use his name stays with Quentin all evening. 

*

The next day Eliot spends the morning finalising the routine and finalising the set with Tony. He’s so busy that he almost forgets the training session he arranged with Teddy for that afternoon.

The two of them had gone over the routine the day before, and at the time Eliot had thought that Teddy had been picking it up, but today he’s all over the place. It takes a couple of run-throughs for Eliot to realise its because there are so many other people watching them today. 

The pressure is making him tense and throwing the whole routine off as a result. 

Eliot is just about to call everyone in for a break when he registers the King standing a couple of rows over. Unfortunately, Teddy also notices at the same time. His whole body tenses up, and he overbalances hitting the ice with a thud. 

For a moment, Eliot panics, but Todd of all people is there in an instant, helping Teddy to his feet. 

“Don't worry. Everyone falls down. Even me. All the time. I promise you're gonna get it. Just takes a little bit of practice.” Eliot can hear him saying. 

“He's having trouble with his spiral,” Margo says from Eliot’s side. 

“He's hard on himself.” Eliot sighs. 

“Yeah, well, he reminds me of somebody else I know.” Eliot rolls his eyes at her. 

“Hey, I have to head to rehearsal for the villagers. Are you good here?” Eliot nods in reply and kisses her cheek as she leaves. 

Eliot turns his attention back to the kid. 

“Teddy you're doing great.” He tells him gently, crouching down with a hand on his shoulder. 

“No, I'm not.” 

“Yes, you are.” He repeats firmly. 

“But there are only 10 days until the pageant, and I still haven't got the spiral perfect. And everyone's going to be watching.” Teddy says all in a rush.

Before Eliot can figure out the best way to respond to the king – Q Eliot corrects himself mentally – chooses that moment to intervene. 

“Hey, Ted.”

“Hey, Dad,” Teddy says with a smile, folding into the offered embrace. Over the top of his head Quentin and Eliot exchange nods. 

“What are you doing here?” Teddy asks when they break apart. 

“Well, last night, I was thinking of something your grandfather had said. That in a palace filled with Christmas trees, we must have decorated one ourselves.” Quentin is taking his advice. The thought feels a little strange, but it also gives Eliot a little bit of a thrill. 

“You mean we're going to decorate a Christmas tree.” Teddy is also very excited. 

“We need to pick one out first,” Quentin says with a smile. 

“Yes!” Teddy would be jumping up and down if not for the skates on his feet. Realising this, he slumps onto one of the benches and starts ripping the laces out. Quentin and Eliot exchange a fond look. 

Halfway through the second boot, Teddy stops short and swivels his attention back to his father “Can Eliot come?” He asks, puppy dog eyes already in place. 

Quentin looks a little taken aback at the request, 

“Well, I'm sure Eliot’s quite busy, but if he can spare an hour, we could certainly use your Christmas expertise.”  
Quentin is right, he is swamped, and he absolutely does not have time to go Christmas tree shopping, which will take far more than an hour. He should say no. 

“Well, Christmas is my middle name.” He says instead. 

“Then you must join us because my middle name is Makepeace.” 

The statement actually makes Eliot pause for a second, it’s so ludicrous. Quentin has the gall to grin him, before turning towards the door, Teddy bouncing around him. 

“There’s no way your name is actually Quentin Makepeace Coldwater. No, I absolutely will not believe it.” Eliot calls after them. 

“You coming Waugh, or not?” Quentin shouts back. 

God help him, he absolutely is. 

*

To start with, Teddy is pretty restrained, but that doesn’t last as soon as they hit the good trees. 

This one, this one, this one! Can we get that one?” He yells, racing towards the tree at the end of the row they are currently walking down.

Eliot glances at Q, making sure he has his attention he mouths Three… two… one. When he reaches one Teddy shits and races towards another tree “No, no, this one. I really like this one.”

They both break into peals of laughter. Teddy continues staring at every tree. It’s good to see him so happy. 

“Please, please, please, please, please, please.” He continues now at another tree.

On their way over to him, Quentin catches several people failing to take pictures subtlety. 

Eliot notices too. “This is turning into a photo op for you.”

Quentin grimaces “My life is one long photo opportunity. The joys of being king.”

“Don't have to tell me. I was the prom queen.” Eliot replies. Quentin can’t help but laugh. 

“I think I found it. I think I found the perfect tree.” Teddy interrupts them again. Eliot looks as sceptical as Quentin feels, but when they turn the corner and finally reach the tree in question, he has to admit that Teddy might have a point. 

“This is the one.” 

“It is perfect,” Eliot adds. Teddy flushes under the praise. 

“I'll ask Penny to organize delivery,” Quentin says, reaching for his phone. 

Eliot lets out a shocked gasp. His hand is pressed theatrically to his chest, and he is wilting against another tree. 

“What?” Quentin asks in shock. 

“Well, my family tradition is no Christmas tree shopping is complete without struggling to get the Christmas tree home.” 

That sounds like an awful lot of unnecessary attention to Quentin. Still, Eliot is teasing him in that hot-mean way that pretty people can get away with, and it's making his skin feel a size too tight. Combine that with Teddy weaponizing Q’s soft spot for his adorable faces, and he really didn’t stand a chance. 

“Really?” 

So that’s how Eliot and Quentin end up carrying the tree between them, Teddy ‘helping’ with the directions as they go. When they finally reach the car, Penny looks at them both as though they are lunatics. 

Luckily once they reach the palace, Margo Alice and Kady also appear, ready to help them get the tree all the way up to the family quarters and standing upright in the corner. 

Quentin and Eliot help to get the tree up the stairs. Still, once it’s in the library, they surrender the manoeuvring to the girls and turn to the boxes of decorations. 

“Careful! That was nearly the last of me.” Julia cries as Margo leans on the tree slightly too much.

“Okay, be careful.” Kady snaps. 

“There? Okay. Like here?” Margo asks, breathlessly. 

“- Yeah.”  
“- It's beautiful.” Julia and Kady reply at the same time. 

At that moment Alice appears with a tray covered in steaming hot chocolate.  
“Hot chocolate?” She offers one to Teddy

“Thank you.” He replies, grabbing one off of the tray, almost spilling it everywhere.

Somehow, Quentin has been assigned lights duty, so he tries to untangle the different strands from one another. It is impossible. 

“Why did I get this job?” He asks Eliot indignantly when he moves to stand next to him. 

“I think I assumed, since you rule a country, you could probably untangle  
some Christmas lights.” Eliot teases.

“Well, I've once more proved you wrong.”

“First, the struggle with the Christmas tree home, and now the lights. Christmas should come with a warning.”

“Yes, warning. Fun ahead.” Eliot gives a mock shudder. “Truly the most terrifying circumstances Q.” 

Eliot continues to stand there and watch him struggle with the lights for another couple of seconds, but watching him must lose its appeal pretty quickly because he then turns to the ornaments box. 

Quentin continues to struggle with the lights. The longer he is working with them, the worse it seems to become. Quentin sigh’s loudly, mostly to see the corner of Eliot’s mouth twitch. He leaves it another moment, before sighing even louder. 

“Do you want some help?” Eliot swings around to ask

“- Yes, please,” Quentin replies sweetly, walking over to Eliot and handing him the tangle of fairy lights. 

The temptation is to watch Eliot’s face while he is fixing the lights, but that seems too, something, too much for the feeling in Quentin’s chest for sure. Instead, he looks down at the ornaments Eliot had been looking before. 

“Some of these ornaments are hundreds of years old.”

“Then I probably shouldn't touch them.” Eliot snorts. “I'm not used to Christmas trees having so much history.”

Then Eliot hands him a chunk of the lighting wire. Q looks at it for a long second, slightly confused. 

“You gotta keep untangling it,” Eliot says to him slowly.

Q sticks his tongue out at him because he is an adult before inspiration strikes.

“I think it would look really good around you.” He says, trying to wrap the lights around Eliot. 

Eliot tries pushing him away, but he isn’t fast enough, and then the two of them are off, shoving each other around and messing about far too much for two fully grown men. It’s one of the most fun evenings Quentin can remember for a very long time. 

Eventually, they even get the tree decorated, in spite of Eliot and Quentin, make no mistake, but it looks magical. 

*

“Eliot, you're needed at the rink.” Kady appears at the door of the office just before lunchtime. He can tell from her voice that it’s not good.

“What's wrong?” He asks, reaching for his jacket. 

“Todd’s hurt.” Eliot pauses for a second, meeting her eyes. 

“Shit” he races for the door. 

“I've already called the palace doctor,” Kady says and, bless her, she matches him for pace on the way down. 

When they burst into the rink, the worst of Eliot’s fears are assuaged. Todd is standing next to a man who must be the palace doctor, testing how much weight he can bear on his ankle. 

“Yeah, it's fine in there.” Todd is saying “The outside's where it's...”

“What happened?” Eliot asks, much calmer now it looks less severe. 

“I slipped and fell wrong,” Todd says sheepishly.

“He'll be fine. It's just a bad sprain. Walking will be fine in a couple of days, but no skating for at least three weeks.”

Eliot nods before the time frame sinks in. “Three weeks?” he asks the doctor desperately. 

“Three weeks?” Todd chimes in

“But the pageant's in nine days.” He protests although they both know the estimate is not changing. Todd cannot skate this pageant. 

The doctor gives them both a sympathetic look, before turning to pack his things away. 

At that point Margo, obviously having heard the news, also appears, so Eliot takes her aside to explain. 

Naturally, she’s furious. “Trust fucking Todd to ruin it, I knew he was lying about his ankle the other day I could see it in his stupid face.” 

“Now Bambi, don’t be rash.” Eliot soothes her. “We’re gonna need you to help me train up a replacement. 

At that, Margo looks up at him sharply. “El, you know the choreography, and you will skate it better than fucking Todd ever could.” She says it slowly, as though he is a child or a fool. 

It’s not that the thought hadn’t crossed Eliot’s mind for a second, but skating hasn’t been something he genuinely thought about doing for so long. Now it’s almost laughable. 

“I can't. I have my old injury, and I haven't been on the ice in years.” It’s an excuse, and a poor one at that. Eliot knows this. “We'll figure it out. This country is full of ice skaters. I'll hold try-outs.”

“Right, because you've got nothing better to do.”

“I have a few things I need to do.” Eliot says defensively “I can figure it out. ‘Christmas is a time where we open our hearts’, remember. anything is possible.” 

Margo pulls a face at the cheesy saying. It had been one of Eliot’s Grandmother’s favourites, far too sentimental for Margo’s tastes.

“Oh, well, you know, maybe you should open yours... to skating in the pageant.” She shoots back. 

Eliot gives her a blank stare. “Look, could you help schedule try-outs for the Rupert role tomorrow? Teddy really needs to skate with someone as soon as possible.”

Margo softens slightly in the way that tells him she doesn’t agree with him at all, but she’s with him anyway. 

“Happy to help.” She says tartly. 

“Thank you.”

*

The next twenty-four hours are manic. They end up having to hold two rounds of try-outs because no one at the first round would have been able to cope with the routine. Even the guy that Eliot thinks they are going to go with is not exactly what he’d call perfect, but it is close enough that both he and Margo are willing to risk it. 

Once that is sorted, they’re almost back on track, other than one of the leading roles not knowing any of the choreography. That being said, there’s absolutely nothing Eliot can do to change the facts at this moment. So, when he finally returns to the office, he rests his forehead onto the tabletop and just rests there for a while. Turning the decision over and over again in his mind. It doesn’t sit right, but there aren’t really any other options, other than staying here and breathing. 

Quentin finds him there. 

He knocks awkwardly on the tabletop when Eliot doesn’t immediately look up at him. 

“I'm, uh, I was sorry to hear about Todd. He skates in your company, right?” 

“- Todd is a moron who has been skating on an injury for the past month. It’s his own fault, but thanks.” Eliot sighs, lifting his head to look at the king “The pageant being illogical and impossible is growing increasingly real.”

“Well, I have faith in you.” The king says earnestly. “Actually, I have a little matter I could use your advice on. I've reconsidered your take on the palace staff Christmas gifts.”

“- You did, did you?” Eliot smirks.

“- I did,” Quentin says slowly. ”And I could see how my gift could be perceived as...”

“Bad?” Eliot tries.

The king fixes him with a look. Eliot thinks it was supposed to be disapproving, but there is a hint of a smile in the set of his mouth. “I was going to say "unsentimental", but...”

“That's the word I was looking for.”

Quentin ignores him. 

“I know you've got a lot on your plate, and heaven knows nobody needs this pageant to succeed more than me. I was hoping you could help with some pointers on my gift-giving.”

The pile of paperwork glares up at Eliot from where it sits on his desk. He should say no, that he has far too much work to be doing to buy Christmas presents for people he doesn’t know. It wouldn’t be a lie. If he did that, though, the king would stop looking at him like that. As though he’s worried about Eliot’s opinion for some unfathomable reason. 

“I would love to.”

He doesn’t say any of that. King Quentin’s smile is enough. 

Somehow they end up in the same store that Quentin had visited for his first, awful attempt at gift buying. Tony is even behind the counter again. Eliot’s first instinct is to leave Q to it for a while, watch what he goes for, and guide him away from the genuinely awful options. 

It becomes evident pretty quickly that the plan isn’t going to work. 

Quentin looks wholly lost, stumbling through the store. There is absolutely no pattern between any of the objects he picks up, other than a consistently lost expression on his face. Like most things with Quentin, Eliot finds it pretty cute. 

Finally, he takes pity on him. “What exactly are we looking for?” Eliot asks, walking up behind Q. 

“For the palace staff, the kitchen crew, Regina, Margaret, Penny,” Quentin says. His eyes keep scanning the shelves for inspiration. He grabs blindly at a travel mug in front of him and holds it up for Eliot’s inspection. 

“- Perhaps a coffee cup for Penny?” He tries.

“Does he drink a lot of coffee?” 

“No, he doesn't.” Quentin deflates. “Help. I'm failing Christmas.” 

“A good gift needs to be something personal, it shows that you care.” 

Quentin still looks lost. 

“Okay, take yours truly, everyone who knows me knows how much I love Christmas ornaments. I have this massive collection even though I'm never home to hang them on the tree. But, people get me them as gifts all the time. Almost all of them have some kind of meaning behind them.” That pitch might have been slightly more personal than Eliot was aiming for, but the point absolutely still stood. 

Quentin gave him a long, considering look. 

“So I get the staff ornaments?” He finally asks. 

“Eh, not quite. I think the key is to give something that tells everyone the place they have in your heart.” 

Quentin rolls his eyes, so hard Eliot is worried they’ll fall straight out of his head. “Okay well, now I know you’re just making this up as you go along.” 

“Okay,” he finally grins. “Let's see what we can find.” They both take another lap of the store, Eliot is considering his options when something catches his eye. It’s perfect even if he does say so himself. “I'll take one of these. Two of these. Here, hold that.” He starts, grabbing items as they go, and then thrusting them at Quentin. 

The final item is a pile of undecorated stockings. Quentin is looking at them like they might bite him. “I'm sorry, but the gift is socks? Aren't socks considered the worst Christmas gifts universally?”

His eyebrows are drawn together in confusion. It’s adorable. 

“Not socks. Christmas stockings. You'll hand-make them for the staff, and we'll hang them above one of the fireplaces, God knows you have enough. They could have a fireplace each.” Quentin still looks slightly baffled “You can fill them with the cards and the personal gifts to show them how much you care.” 

“I'm going to struggle with the hand-make part,” Quentin warns him, but he’s smiling now. 

“I'll help you,” Eliot reassures him before pushing him in the direction of the register. 

They get everything at the store sorted pretty quickly. Eliot pauses to grab the final props that Margo has been chasing him for, and they head back to the palace together. 

Sewing Christmas gifts is not, surprisingly enough, the most important thing on either of their agendas, so they agree to put it off until that evening.

When Quentin finally appears, it's late. Margo and everyone else working on the pageant have long since left Eliot alone in their makeshift office. He looks tired, slightly ruffled in a way Eliot hasn’t really seen before. The pinstriped tie from earlier is tucked haphazardly into his jacket pocket, and the top buttons of his shirt are undone revealing a tantalising strip of skin. Strands of hair have fallen into his face, curling along the collar of the shirt where the structural integrity of his bun has failed. 

Eliot is about to ask if Quentin is still up for this tonight, but his eyes light up when he sees the sewing machine on the table. 

“Okay, I'll sew, you decorate?” Eliot asks tentatively, as though somehow Quentin has been hiding a talent for sewing. 

“Well, it definitely won't work the other way around.”

Eliot smiles, and they both get to work. It isn’t long before they have a real system going. There is minimal sewing for Eliot to do, and none of it too complicated, so he’s free to watch the micro-expressions playing out over Quentin’s face as he focuses on the fabric glue. It shouldn’t be anywhere near as endearing as it is. 

“How do you know how to do all this?” Quentin finally asks. 

The question is unexpected, though maybe it shouldn’t be. For a moment he’s going to give the half answer he always uses. Still, there’s something about the moment – something about Quentin a traitorous voice whispers – that forces the truth free. 

“I used to do it with my Grandmother. She loved Christmas, went all out. Everything handmade, DIY.” Eliot smiles at the memory, one of the few good ones from Indiana. “I never got on well with most of my family, but my Grandmother was special. The best person I’ve ever met” 

He shifts away from Quentin’s gaze, something about it makes him feel too open and exposed. 

“I moved in with her when my Da finally kicked me out. The first couple Christmases after she passed away, every garland and carol reminded me of her.” 

Q smiles at him sadly. There’s understanding in his eyes, and it makes something in Eliot’s bones settle. 

“My mother left when I was very young. I never really knew her. But my father, he loved Christmas.”

“Sounds like a great guy already. What was he like?”

“Magnanimous, beloved.” 

Eliot looks up to see a coy grin on his face. 

“I feel like I've heard that somewhere before.”

“Ha, well it was actually true with him. I'm not the king that he was.” Quentin breaks their eye contact. 

“- You miss him.”

“- Yeah, I do. All the time, especially at Christmas.”

“That makes sense.” Eliot smiles in what he hopes is a compassionate way. “It’s nice to remember him too, though, right? It makes them feel less… lost.” 

“Yeah” Quentin agrees. He then turns his attention back to the stocking, and Eliot takes the hint. The conversation remains light this time around, and they sit together talking about everything and nothing long after Quentin applies the last sequin. 

*

The next morning Eliot has a thousand and one things to do. It’s supposed to be Todd’s replacement’s first day, but the guy hasn’t shown up. Also, there was a disaster with the printer for the flyers, so Eliot has been on the phone all morning trying to figure it out. 

“Eliot? We're supposed to be rehearsing.” Teddy interrupts him. 

“Todd’s replacement is coming to practice with you.” Eliot looks up at him when he doesn’t receive an instant response. 

“Well...” The kid looks like he’s about to cry. Eliot immediately puts aside whatever it is in his hands, shifting his undivided attention onto Teddy. 

“What's going on?” 

“I don't want to play Martin anymore.” Teddy looks at him with large eyes, like he’s expecting Eliot to be angry. When Eliot says nothing, he continues “When I was skating with Todd, he's the star. I knew everyone would be looking at him. But now everyone will be looking at me, and they'll expect me to be perfect.”

“Why would they expect that?” 

“Because princes are supposed to be perfect. Like Cinderella.” The kid says with a smile. 

“No one's perfect. And Cinderella definitely wasn't perfect. She was always running late and losing things, like the glass slipper.” Eliot replies carefully. He’s trying desperately not to say anything that will freak the kid out. “It's one thing I'll never understand. If that slipper fit perfectly, then why did it fall off?” 

That makes Teddy stop and think. Eliot can see the two emotions battling it out on his face, the desire to skate, and the fear of failing so publicly. 

“Cinderella was a terrible figure skater.”

“She was?” Teddy looks up at him, brow furrowed. 

“How could she not be? Her coach was a pumpkin.”

The lame joke earns him a smile. 

“Sometimes it's just a little hard being out there on the ice.”

“It is.” Teddy agrees solemnly 

“But I think that's part of it. We can't let our fears hold us back from doing what we love most.” He has one final trump card left in his arsenal, and there can be no going back once he’s offered it. Eliot isn’t sure that this is the best idea at all really, but screw it “What if I were to skate the Rupert role?”

“You'd skate with me?” Teddy’s eyes snapped to his. 

“- Yeah.”

“But aren't you hurt?” The sweet concern in the kid’s face melts the last reserves that Eliot had against the idea. 

“Well, let's just hope I'm all healed up.” 

*

Eliot regrets offering to skate with Teddy as soon as the offer comes out of his mouth. It’s not that he doesn’t want to skate, but he might not be able to. Even If he gets onto the ice, he still has to pull off the routine. He hasn’t let himself go completely, he always goes to the gym most mornings, but that is nothing in comparison to skating a full ten-minute routine. It was irresponsible of him to offer to skate. 

It would be worse to let Teddy down. 

Something about the kid is getting under Eliot’s skin. He skates like he needs it to breathe, it reminds Eliot of himself to an almost uncomfortable degree, but its more than that. Teddy is funny and whip-smart, and most of all, incredibly humble for someone literally born to rule a country. 

He’s probably a little bit too attached, to the whole family really, but they’re leaving after Christmas. So if he has a crush on a certain someone, it really doesn’t matter. It’s certainly not going anywhere. 

The next couple of days are somehow even more hectic than before. Eliot still hasn’t been on the ice, but he is so busy with everything else that he doesn’t need to come up with an excuse. 

Margo and Alice have been chatting in corners and disappearing at strange moments all week. Eliot can make an educated guess as to what that means even if Bambi hasn’t told him anything. It’s cute even if it has led to Margo zoning out at inappropriate moments. Moments like now. 

“Bambi” Eliot raises his voice at her across the office and receives absolutely no response. “Margo!” he almost shouts at her, and finally she looks up. 

“Sorry El, I was… distracted” 

“I’m sure you were” Eliot replies. “I was trying to tell you that I signed the forms that we need to send back to the real estate broker.”

“Perfect, okay,” Margo said, grabbing her phone. “I’ll get in touch with them as soon as possible, and we can see where we go from here.” 

As she starts typing out an email, the door opens, and Quentin walks into the room. He must have come from addressing parliament because he has a circlet on his head. It makes him look very regal, Eliot thinks. 

“Hi guys, sorry if I’m interrupting.” 

Eliot waves him off, and he continues. 

“You are both invited to the royal Christmas tea this evening. It's an age-old tradition. We'll have tea, finger sandwiches, and traditional Christmas desserts. My father and I used to bake cookies for it.” He says almost as an afterthought.  
Eliot should stay out of it, but this is a practically perfect opportunity to get Quentin into some Christmas themed bonding. “Maybe that's something Teddy would love to do.” 

Quentin looks taken aback for a second, “Well, I'm not much of a baker.” He says cautiously. 

“-Well, Eliot’s a great baker,” Margo interjects before Eliot has the chance to respond. He tries to warn her off with a look, but she ignores him completely, the harpy. “Yeah, he used to make these delicious frosted gingerbread cookies, and I'm sure he'd love to help.”

Quentin must have seen the panic in his eyes because he is cautious when he asks “I know you're very busy, Eliot, but if you could spare the time, I'm sure Teddy would love it.”

“Anything for Teddy.”

“Very well. Good afternoon.” Quentin says stiffly, nodding as he leaves again. 

The second he is out of earshot Eliot rounds on Margo, whacking her arm with his notebook. “What was that?” he demands. 

“That? That was awkward.” She gives him a long, meaningful look. 

Eliot knows that look. It is the same look she gives him whenever he can’t tell that someone is flirting with him even though that is absolutely not what is happening here. 

“No, he's not interested,” Eliot tells her sharply, turning back to the desk.  
Margo follows him. 

“I have seen him looking at you, and yes, he is.” She insists, leaning over the desk. 

“No, Margo, he's not. He dates...” Eliot waves a hand at her “I don't know who he dates, but not people like me.”

“Why is it that you always think you're not good enough?” She asks softly. 

The question hits him right in the underbelly. It’s too close to the truth for him to laugh off completely. 

“I don't. I think I'm great.” He insists. 

“-Good.”

“-But he's a king who's here, and I'm...”

“Also here right now,” Margo argues. She’s completely missing the point. He can't let himself hope for anything. Even if Q is interested, Eliot’s feelings are far too messy for the short amount of time they have together. 

“And as you pointed out earlier, leaving.” He tells Margo. 

For a moment it seems like Margo might leave it there. She doesn’t, of course. “What was that thing that your Grandmother used to say about Christmas?”

“That it's a time when you should open your heart. And I opened my heart  
to skating in the pageant. You can’t use that line twice” Eliot informs her “Speaking of, I need to get to rehearsals.”

“Are you going to skate?” She asks him pointedly. 

“If there’s time, of course,” Eliot replies, unconvincingly. “Wish me luck.”

“Luck.” She says, resignedly as he heads for the door. 

Eliot lets himself focus on baking the cookies, rather than any skating he may or may not have to do today. He hasn’t made them in years, certainly not since Gran died. He recalls the recipe rather than Margo’s words, or the pageant and tries to regain his balance. 

The rehearsal is long, most of the villagers with them today are young, all around Teddy’s age. They are practising a group number, so the boy in question could be skating with the other children. Instead, he’s loitering at the outside of the group, constantly looking over at Eliot. 

“Nice. Good job, Fray. Good, Delilah.” Eliot calls out as they come to the end of the number “High. Pick up your feet. Robin, pick up your feet a bit.” He turns to the ginger boy on the end, who flushes slightly, but accepts the note with a nod. 

“Good job, everyone, take five, and we’ll go again.” 

Most of the other children break off into a group, but Teddy comes over to Eliot instead. “Are we gonna skate together today?” he asks eagerly. 

“You know...” Eliot trails off. Today would be the perfect opportunity to get Teddy more comfortable with the other children. “Actually, your dad wanted us to make Christmas cookies, so why don't I get everything ready in the kitchen, and you can rehearse with the other kids.”

He can see the panic in Teddy’s face.

“But I don't know them.” 

“Then show them who you really are because everyone likes that person,” Eliot replies encouragingly. 

Teddy still looks unsure. 

“I know it can be scary to put yourself out there, but it's worth it.” 

They exchange a long look before Teddy nods and heads over towards the other children. Eliot’s presence will only discourage Teddy from making new friends, and that is the only reason that Eliot retreats into the kitchens to prepare for their baking session later.

He isn’t relieved that he won’t have the chance to skate today. Not at all. 

*

Baking had sounded like a good idea a couple of hours ago when Eliot had first suggested it. Now, with the reality of spending several, exceedingly domestic hours cooking with Eliot – and his son, who utterly adores the man in question—it seems more and more problematic.

It really is like something out of a cheesy holiday movie. The three of them are crowded around a bench. Teddy is currently doing his best to ice one of the cookies from their first batch, chatting away about the children he spent the afternoon skating with. Quentin hasn’t seen him this carefree in a while. It’s fantastic getting to see him act like an average child for once. It is also painfully apparent that it is entirely down to Eliot’s intervention. 

They must be reaching the limit on the number of ways that he is utterly, utterly perfect for Quentin, though at the moment it doesn’t look all that likely. 

The man in question is whisking sugar icing while chatting with Teddy. He’s wearing the glasses again, and there is a light dusting of icing sugar resting in his curls and across the bridge of his nose. 

“So I'm stirring, your dad is still rolling out the dough, although why it's taking him so long is a great mystery.” Eliot stage whispers to Teddy. 

“Well, I'm trying to get it perfect.” Quentin defends, not wanting to admit the real reason he hasn’t been focusing on the cookie dough. 

“It's a sugar cookie, not an amendment to the Constitution.” Eliot shoots back. 

Quentin sticks his tongue out at him.

“My Gran used to say no matter how good the cookie looks, you should always taste it just to make sure,” Eliot tells Teddy seriously, and his eyes light up. He shifts his gaze to Quentin, looking for permission.  
“Well, a job that important definitely needs all of us,” Quentin says, reaching for one of the uglier cookies before offering the plate to Teddy and Eliot. 

“Thank you very much.”

“Thank you. Cheers.” Eliot taps his cookie to Teddy’s, making him laugh. He then turns and does the same for Quentin. 

“Cheers,” Q says softly, taking a second to appreciate the moment before eating the cookie. 

It tastes incredible because, of course, it does. 

Eventually, they have three batches of cookies, baked and iced. There is probably more icing over Teddy’s hands than on some of the cookies. They are obviously home-baked, but they look perfect anyway. Quentin wants to take a moment to thank Eliot properly for taking the time out of his day to bake when he notices the time. 

“Come on Teddy-bear, we need to get you cleaned up for this evening.” Quentin urges his son towards the door. 

“Thanks,” He turns back to speak to Eliot. 

“No problem,” Eliot replies. “I’ll see you later?” 

Quentin nods slowly. He wants to say something more, but he can’t find the right words. Instead, he follows Teddy’s indignant shout of his name, exchanging a fond look with Eliot as he goes. 

There will be time for it later, he’s sure.

*

The Christmas Tea Party is just as tedious as every other year, full of visiting dignitaries and members of parliament. The only bright spot is the plate of colourful, messy gingerbread cookies in the middle of the food table, looking especially out of place next to the delicately designed hors d'oeuvres. 

Quentin has found himself stuck in a conversation with one of the ambassadors from Loria when he notices Eliot enter the room. The sight takes his breath away. He cuts an impressive figure in his suit, even though Quentin knows that it’s borrowed it fits him like a second skin. 

For a moment he checks the impulse to immediately head over there – He doesn’t want to look too keen—before he remembers how annoying everyone else at the party is. 

Eliot’s eyes light up when Quentin heads over towards him.

“Thank you again for the baking lesson. It was marvellous.” 

“I had fun too” Eliot replies “It's been a long time since I baked Christmas cookies.”

“So are you enjoying yourself, or does the question need not be asked?”

Eliot pulls a face briefly, before schooling it into something more serious. 

“It's very well-organized.”

“It is.” Quentin agrees. 

“You know, it could do with a little bit more holiday cheer.” 

Q snorts. He is not wrong. Despite the lavish decorations, the atmosphere is distinctly lacking in festive cheer. “You should come to the Christmas Eve black-tie dinner. In comparison, this is a carnival.” He replies conspiratorially. 

Eliot smiles in return before his expression turns pensive. “I'm confused. If your father loved Christmas so much, then why is it so… not festive?” 

The question brings Quentin up short for a moment, thinking it over. “My father was the one who made these events festive.” He says carefully “He enjoyed the gatherings.”

“You don't?”

“Not so much.”

Well then, maybe you should start your own traditions.” Eliot offers with a tentative smile. 

“New traditions.” Quentin nods. 

For the first time in a long while, the idea of doing something new feels exciting. The usual routines seem more redundant and less like a mourning ritual as they have since Arielle died. 

It also reminds him of the stockings, decorated and filled for each of the staff members. “Speaking of new traditions, I have something I want to show you,” Quentin says. 

“Does it mean we get to leave?” Eliot whispers conspiratorially. 

“Yes.” 

“Then, by all means, lead the way,” 

Once they are out of the ballroom, Quentin offers Eliot his hand. Eliot looks at it for a long moment before intertwining their fingers, the warmth of his hand contrasting with the cold metal of his rings. 

Quentin hopes, somewhat irrationally, that Eliot can’t feel the racing of his pulse through their fingers as he guides them towards the staff sitting room. 

“Here we are.” He says, opening the doors, gesturing towards the fireplace. He can see the moment Eliot registers why they are here. “For Penny, my driver, a cashmere scarf and some driving gloves.” 

“That's perfect,” Eliot says brightly. 

“And then for Margaret, the head chef a set of antique serving spoons she's always admired.”

“That's a great idea,” Eliot says, stepping closer to him. Quentin only realises just how close they are standing now when he has to tilt his neck to see him properly. Eliot reaches forward and brushes a stray hair back from Quentin’s face, the points where his fingertips touch Q’s cheek burn, and he can feel his face flush. 

Involuntarily, Quentin’s eyes are drawn to Eliot’s lips. They are slightly chapped and bitten red, but he can’t make himself look away. Indistinctly he is aware that Eliot is doing the same, shifting them incrementally closer, staring down at Q’s face and his lips. 

A sweet tension is growing between them, kicking Quentin’s heart into overdrive, propelling him forwards. 

He is sure for a moment that they are finally, finally, going to kiss. Eliot ducks his chin and leans in, until there is a loud clattering and the sound of voices from the hallway and they both pull apart, turning to find the source of the disturbance. 

Through the half-open door, they can see Margo and Alice leaning into each other, tipsy and giggly and utterly unaware of anyone else. Alice sways into Margo and winds an arm around her waist, and in response, Margo buries her nose in her hair. 

Quentin hasn’t seen Alice looking so carefree in a long time, and it brings a smile to his face, even if he is disappointed at the disturbance of his own moment. 

“They look happy.” He smiles up at Eliot. 

“Yeah, they do,” El replies wistfully. 

The tension stretches between them for a second longer before Eliot pulls back. “I should probably be heading to bed, early rehearsals tomorrow.” 

“Of course, don’t let me keep you,” Quentin replies. “Thank you again.”  
“Any time.” 

Quentin nods at him as he leaves the room, and tells himself that he absolutely isn’t disappointed as he heads back to the ballroom. 

*

Eliot can’t sleep. He has tried everything, a soothing podcast, counting sheep, even reading the autobiography of a c-list celebrity he had picked up in the airport on the way to Fillory. Nothing is working. 

Instead of sleeping, he resigns himself to tracing the elegant lines of his bed over and over with his eyes. He wants to go exploring. Even after the past couple of days in the palace, everything about it is intriguing. It’s like something out of a novel. 

Nobody will be awake Eliot tells himself. Other than the guards, but as long as he stays in the guest apartments, he should be fine. Mind made up he slips out of bed. 

It's freezing, so he also pulls on a pair of Margo’s fuzzy socks and an old sweatshirt before he creeps out of the room. Julia has made it perfectly clear that Eliot and Margo have complete free reign over this section of the castle. Despite that, he still feels out of place walking through the corridors at night. The walls are covered from floor to ceiling in portraits. Eliot spends a couple of minutes studying one of a woman with a very impressive ruff. 

Eliot finds himself drawn to the library – it had taken his breath away the first day they were in the palace, and it did so again, with its high ceiling and beautiful bookshelves, overflowing with books old and new. There was a central plateau with a couple of slightly overstuffed leather sofa’s.

Unlike the last time he was in here, tonight one of the sofa’s is occupied. 

“Hello.” The king says bemusedly. 

“Um,” Eliot feels heat rush to his cheeks. He had not been expecting to see Quentin. A stupid oversight, he now realises. “Hi.” It comes out more of a question. 

“What has you awake at this hour?” Q asks, shifting the papers he was looking at onto the sofa beside him. 

“I couldn't sleep.” Eliot says, walking further into the room so he can see Quentin better “I thought I’d go exploring, maybe make some hot chocolate.”

This makes Quentin smile. “Curing insomnia with sugar and caffeine?” he asks with a teasing grin. 

Eliot laughs and shrugs dramatically. “What can I say, I’m a complicated man.” 

“I can ask the staff to help.” The king offers. 

“I think I’m perfectly capable of boiling milk and chocolate,” Eliot says wryly, sitting on the arm of the sofa next to Quentin. 

“So you're sure don't need any help at all?” He asks, turning to face Eliot fully. Suddenly the conversation seems heavier than before. Eliot’s mouth is dry when he tries to speak. He has to cough a little to clear it. God, Waugh could you be any more obvious. He scolds himself. 

“Maybe a little.” He says finally, voice still a little rough. 

Quentin smiles up at him, bright and beautiful, a breath seizes in Eliot’s lungs. He wants, desperately to make this second last just a little bit longer so he can memorise all of the different colours in his eyes or the way one of his bottom teeth is slightly crooked. 

Quentin moves away though—for a second Eliot is disappointed until the king turns back to him and offers out a hand. “Aren’t you coming?” he asks “I have an in with the kitchen staff.” 

Eliot laughs and lets himself be dragged down more hallways. 

Finally, they arrive in the kitchen. It’s a large, utilitarian room. Still, Quentin moves around it naturally, before Eliot knows it, he is being presented with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. They end up sitting side by side on kitchen stools, knees knocking together each time one of them moves. 

“So do you often have chocolate in the middle of the night?” Quentin asks. 

“Well, I figure chocolate comes from cocoa,” Eliot says “which comes from a tree, which makes it a plant, which means I'm kind of having a salad.” In front of him, Quentin is trying not to laugh. 

“I like your logic. Can you keep a secret?” 

“Oh, I’m not sure if you want to test that” Eliot replies. 

“I keep a stash of candy in my office.” 

“Oh, a state secret.” Eliot laughs. 

“Of course,” Quentin says, mock seriously. “You can’t tell Teddy.” 

Eliot salutes at him before they both dissolve into giggles. Eliot feels it, fizzling in his chest. 

“So the pageant's in five days, and then you go home?” Quentin asks when they both fall silent. 

“I do,” Eliot replies, nodding. “Although...” he trails off, not entirely sure if he wants to finish the thought.

“What?” 

“I guess I thought I was in such a big rush to get home, but lately I've realized why I spent the past four years on the road. I don’t exactly have a lot of experience with big Christmases, it’s just been Bambi and me for a long time. I guess I'm not so sure if going home is actually gonna feel like home. I mean, back in New Jersey, I have a lot of people I love... friends, family.”

“A boyfriend? O-or, a girlfriend?” Quentin blushes heavily as he stutters. 

“- No, no boyfriend” he replies deliberately. 

“- Oh, no... Well, I find that hard to believe.” Quentin says, finally. “Why not?”

“I was dating someone, Mike, before my accident but touring and distance took a toll, and then I got injured, and it turned out he didn’t like me so much when I stopped helping his career by getting him into exclusive parties—” 

Quentin’s outraged face is cute, his nose is all wrinkled, and his ears are flushing slightly pink. 

“—he was a journalist. Still is, I suppose. Anyway, I don't think I’ve wanted to get close to anyone else.”

“He sounds like a massive dick,” Quentin says flatly. 

“It wasn’t all his fault. I wasn’t exactly at my best, I’d just lost my entire career, and I was drinking way more than I should have been. It was all a mess, really.” Strangely, Eliot finds he actually means the words coming out of his mouth. He is feeling freer than he can remember feeling in years. 

“Nope, Asshole.” Quentin declares, and Eliot has to smile at how indignant he looks. 

“What about you? Do you date?” He says before he can stop himself from asking the question. 

“Not since Arielle died,” Quentin replies softly. 

Way to go asshole that’ll get him in the mood Eliot scolds himself, but Quentin isn’t done. 

“I've devoted all my free time to Teddy. Plus, dating in the national spotlight's a little bit daunting.” He smiles self-deprecatingly “Although I think I'm ready to find someone. I know how much Teddy wants a family. And when I see him with you...” he trails off. 

Eliot desperately wants to know the end of that sentence. The heavy feeling from earlier is back. It makes Eliot edgy and desperate. He wants… something. He wants to touch Quentin. To mess up his hair, or rub the ridiculously soft-looking cardigan he’s wearing. He wants to listen to him, ramble for hours. 

“I should get back to this.” Quentin breaks him from his train of thought. 

“What is it, more state secrets?” Eliot asks disappointment bleeding into his voice, sharpening the tone. 

“It's the Christmas Eve dinner plan.” Quentin answers. He doesn’t seem to notice that Eliot is weird, or if he does, he is far too polite to mention it. 

“So it's who's invited, who sits where?” Eliot plays along. 

“The diplomats with the diplomats and the Cabinet are separated, so they don't fight.” Quentin agrees.

“Where would a commoner like me sit?” Quentin stood up at some point, so now he and Eliot are face to face for once. 

“Well, there's nothing common about you at all,” Quentin says. There’s a weight to his words. As he speaks, their faces shift closer together, so close that it feels like Quentin is stealing all of the air between them. A stab of regret shoots through Eliot. Regret that this moment is going to pass them by as well. Pre-emptive disappointment for whatever stupid thing he is about to do that will ruin this bubble. He’s just going to have to file it away with the increasing number of missed chances between them. 

“So I mean, if you were to come to the Christmas Eve dinner, I would seat you right next to me.”– Not what Eliot was expecting him to say. He’s still thinking about Quentin’s eyes, not his words, which- “What?”

Eliot has just enough time to think Maybe I’m not going to ruin this after all before Quentin’s lips are on his and his brain stops thinking in words. Everything fizzles down to a series of sensations. Strands of Quentin’s hair have escaped the knot at the back of his head and are brushing against Eliot’s cheeks, soft against his stubble. The kiss tastes like chocolate, Quentin’s breath smells slightly of the whisky he was drinking in the library. 

Eliot widens his legs, giving Quentin the space to slide firmly between them. Their torsos are pressed together tightly, Eliot wraps a leg around Quentin and pulls him in closer, eliciting a groan. The king catches himself with a hand against the counter, holding himself taught, muscles straining with the effort. 

Eliot reaches up, wrapping his hands around Quentin’s biceps, enjoying the strength of them. He pulls him closer, desperate for more of this. Quentin shifts his weight so that most of it is settled against Eliot, who then takes the opportunity to push forward, between the kings' legs. 

“Fuck” Eliot groans, desperate and embarrassing. He pulls Quentin close again. 

Q doesn’t kiss the way Eliot had expected him to. It’s messy and frantic. Quentin is all-consuming, the way he moves against Eliot, the small noises he makes every time Eliot does something he likes. He demands all of his attention, fast and urgent, even as he systematically hits all of Eliot’s weak points, gripping the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into biting kisses. 

For some reason, he had expected Q to be bashful about this. The same as every other straight boy who had taken a one night trip on the Waugh Express—Eliot cringes at himself. He was entirely unprepared for this messy, demanding version of Quentin. 

Quentin releases his grip from the back of El’s neck and lets one hand trail down his side, nails scratching against him slightly through the fabric, slow enough to make him squirm. Then Quentin slides a hand under Eliot’s shirt, and there’s a shot of electricity as their skin brushes. Eliot lets his brain short circuit completely, mouthing at Q’s neck and holding his hips in a bruising grip. 

Eliot moves his own hands from Quentin’s shoulders to the buttons of his shirt, fumbling at them, desperate to get his hands on Quentin’s skin. Q huffs out a laugh and takes pity on him. He pulls back and makes quick work of the buttons himself, revealing an undershirt. Eliot reaches for that too, but Quentin stops him before he can pull it off. 

“Hey, hey,” Quentin says gently. “Lord knows the last thing I want to do is stop, but I need to know you’re sure about this?” 

Eliot shakes his head in frustration “You’re way too fucking coherent. How are you this coherent?” 

“Eliot.” 

“Yes, of course, I’m sure. Christ, how is that even a question? Do you know what you look like right now?” Eliot grabs his waist and grinds them together again, eliciting another groan from Quentin. 

“Fuck Eliot, you’re killing me.” He moans. 

“Obviously not well enough” Eliot mutters. 

“We should” Quentin’s words get bitten off by a groan. “We should do this somewhere, not here. Preferably with a bed.”

Eliot wants to complain, but the reality of the situation is hitting him again. If sleeping with the monarch of a small European country is high up on the list of bad decisions he could be making right now, doing it in a semi-public kitchen is possibly the only thing higher. “Fine.” He bites out between kisses. 

They make their way through the corridors quickly, or as quickly as you can when they stop every couple of minutes from making out against the nearest flat surface. 

Eliot is so caught up in the moment that he doesn’t even notice that they aren’t in his room until Quentin pushes him into an unfamiliar bed. 

“Trust me?” Quentin asks, his voice surprisingly vulnerable “I—if you’re going to stop me I need you to do it now before—”

“Jesus Christ Quentin, I’m not going to stop you. Please stop fussing and fuck me already.” Eliot puts a hand on Quentin’s fly to emphasise his point, running his fingers against the firm line of his dick, where it is pressing into the metal of the zip. 

Q laughs a little shaky and pushes into the touch. 

“When you ask so nicely, how can I refuse.” 

The next kiss is just as much as their first, except this time Eliot feels it as Quentin lets go and relaxes fully into the embrace. For a moment it feels like maybe he’s as into this as Eliot is. Like perhaps for him the world has also narrowed down to the places that they are touching, Eliot’s hand in his hair, Eliot’s tongue against his, Eliot’s thigh between his. 

Quentin raises a knee, pressing into Eliot, rubbing it against him in slow teasing circles. Then Quentin is kissing down his chest, fast and messy. He runs his teeth along Eliot’s hip bone before he is pulling his sweats down. They get caught on the fluffy socks he’s wearing. For a moment, Eliot wants to die. “It’s really cold here.” He tries to justify himself. 

Quentin looks at him for a long moment before laughing warmly. “You’re right,” he agrees “It is fucking freezing. You should let me warm you up properly.” 

Eliot groans at the line. Before he can protest, Quentin is mouthing along his cock through his boxers, before focusing his attention on the tip. Then Eliot is groaning for an entirely different reason. 

“Fuck,” Eliot says watching Quentin as he pushes his boxers down, running a thumb across his cheek as gazes up at Eliot as though he is everything Q wants at this moment. He’s physically incapable of working out what he wants to do, how he wants to touch Quentin as he softens his throat and takes Eliot in, curling his tongue around the sensitive nerve below the head of his dick. Quentin hollows his cheeks as he sucks hard three times, bringing Eliot brutally close to the edge before he sits back on his heels, smirking gently. 

Eliot blinks down at him dumbly. “Fuck.” He says again. He wishes he could say something, anything else, instead he settles on “more.” 

“More?” Q asks with a smile “I can do more baby.” Eliot melts a little at the pet name. He tries to hide it, but he’s pretty sure he fails spectacularly. 

“I like you like this” Eliot says before he can stop himself, his hand pushing into Quentin’s hair firmly. “All confident. It’s a good look on you.” 

Quentin settles back onto the bed, making a show of scanning Eliot from head to toe appreciatively. He shifts forward until he is seated across Eliot’s thighs. Their cocks brush together as Quentin tastes the tender stretch of skin at the crook of Eliot’s neck. Finally, finally, Eliot gets a hand around both of their dicks. 

“Oh-oh, El, please. Fuck yeah.” Quentin lets out in a rush. 

Eliot grins in self-satisfaction as he rubs his thumb against the head of Quentin’s dick. They are both leaking already, and Eliot uses it to smooth his way. It’s hot and slick, and Eliot has to close his eyes, pressing into Quentin’s neck as he lets out a whine. 

“I’m not gonna last much longer.” Q warns him, breathlessly “Fuck—feels like I’ve been on edge for hours.” His voice breaks into another ragged moan. 

The knowledge that Quentin is just as desperate for this as Eliot is going straight to Eliot’s own dick. He tightens his grip and begins thrusting into his fist in rhythm with his movements. “Fuck Q, I want to see it, come for me, come all over me, shit.” 

Eliot catches his thumb against the underside of Quentin’s dick and Quentin curls forward, pressing his forehead into Eliot’s chest. He lets out a startled groan before he comes, wet and messy all over Eliot’s hand and stomach. Eliot eases him through it, tightening his grip and shifting against him until Q squirms away, wrung out and oversensitive. 

He stares down at Eliot, eyes blown full and dark. The heat in his gaze is almost enough to bring Eliot over the edge himself, even though nobody is touching his dick. He waits though, at least until Quentin curls both their hands around him again, messy and uncoordinated. It only takes a couple of strokes before Eliot is arching up into their hands, spilling across both their hands, his own come mixing with Q’s on his stomach. 

Eliot grimaces slightly, before cleaning himself off with the corner of his sheet. 

“Um, excuse me, did you just wipe come on my bedsheets?” Quentin asks, but there is no heat in his voice. He just falls into bed at Eliot’s side, throwing an arm over his chest. Eliot has a scathing retort planned, something about Quentin literally being a monarch and therefore able to afford a new set of bedsheets, but he never quite gets it out. Instead, they both settle under the comforter, naked and blissed out. Before he even realises it, he’s pulling Quentin into his chest and surrendering to sleep. 

*

The sun wakes Quentin. 

It’s crept around his drapes, only half closed the night before, and a narrow slip is falling right on his face. He squints into it, braced – but then he realises his head doesn’t hurt at all. 

Nothing hurts. He’d been sleeping on his back, and he’s actually slept for what feels a reasonable amount of time. Lying still, he almost feels normal.  
Once he blinks the white-gold blaze away, he sees Eliot. 

For some reason, he had almost expected him to leave, either right after, or once Quentin had fallen asleep, but he hadn’t. He’s still here, lying on his side, facing Quentin, half under the covers with his legs peeking out. His face is completely relaxed and tilted at the perfect angle. A strip of sunlight is linting off of his cheekbone, illuminating his hair, making it seem almost auburn in the light. A single tousled curl is flopping into his face. He’s sprawled comfortably, as though he belongs here. 

It’s a foolish thought, one that can only bring pain in the long run, but at this moment, with Eliot’s weight warm and steady against him, it feels like an honest one. One of his hands is flung out sideways on the pillow, rings still on and wrist upturned. His fingers are curled like he fell asleep stroking Quentin’s face or his hair. 

For a moment it’s perfect. He’s—still there. 

Quentin looks at him for a long moment, then another; just looks at him and lets the wanting build and grow into the yearning real thing in his chest that consistently nocks him off his feet. He shouldn’t be this gone on anyone in a couple of weeks—should be terrified at what it might mean—but rather than fussing about that he simply reaches out a hand and intertwines it with Eliot’s, relishing the feeling of his cold rings against his fingers. 

Eliot wakes slowly. 

Eyelids flicker, his breathing shifts, then he’s making some truly adorable snuffling noises, shifting his weight closer to Quentin, curling around their intertwined hands. 

Finally, his eyes begin to blink open. Quentin squeezes his own shut in panic. He focuses on his breathing, slow and steady in contrast to the racing of his heart. Their hands are still clasped together though, they pull slightly as Eliot flips onto his back. Briefly, Quentin is sure he can feel the weight of his gaze. It only lasts a moment before he gently pries Quentin’s fingers out of his grip. The bed shifts as he moves to stand. 

Disappointment claws at his throat and attacks the soft feeling from before. In the absence of Eliot cold creeps in almost instantly, starting with his hand, then spreading down his side rapidly. The mix of sensations is so much that he almost misses the gentle buzzing of a phone. For a moment he braces himself to fake coming round, but before he can get that far, Eliot is answering the phone softly. 

“Bambi, Hi.”

There’s a long pause, presumably as Margo talks, Eliot humming along slightly as she goes. From the rustling of clothes, he must also be getting dressed. 

“Trenton really?” Eliot asks, surprise evident in his voice. “I can’t believe we haven’t come across it before, I thought we’d managed to infiltrate every skating rink in New Jersey.”

Margo must say something amusing at that because Eliot laughs softly. Quentin lets his eyes crack open slightly. He is sat on the edge of the other side of the bed, pants on, but his shirt from the night before is next to him on the bed. In the sunlight, he looks beautiful, almost otherworldly. He keeps watching as Eliot nods along to the conversation. 

“We’ll be home in a week or so Bambi, there’s no way they’ll close the deal the week before the holidays, but if it's looking dicey we can ring Fen, I’m sure she will take a look at it for us.” 

Eliot nods once more, before promising to meet her for breakfast and disconnecting the call.

Once again, Quentin finds himself faking sleep. A large part of him expects Eliot to finish dressing and then leave. Instead, a hand reaches out and shakes his shoulder gently. 

“Q” Eliot tries softly “Rise and shine.” 

Out of other options and unable to put it off any longer, Quentin open’s his eyes. The full force of morning Eliot still takes him by surprise. 

“Morning sleepyhead. It’s almost nine, I’m sure you have plenty of things you should be doing.” Eliot says softly. “I need to find Bambi for breakfast.” He trails off uncertainly, gaze searching for something in Quentin’s face. “Didn’t want you to think I was running out on you.” 

Suddenly the morning doesn’t seem as bleak as it had ten minutes ago. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he replies. “I’ll see you later, you’re supposed to be rehearsing with Teddy later right?”

Eliot hums non-committally. 

“Later.” He brushes a light kiss against Quentin’s brow and leaves with a cheery wave leaving Q alone with his own thoughts. A part of him – a big part really – wants to stay put and analyse these feelings over and over again, until they start to resemble something approaching sense. Unluckily for him, he is still in charge of a country, so there are many other more important things to be doing at this moment in time. 

Sighing, he pushes the duvet away. The pillow on the other side of the bed smells slightly of Eliot’s aftershave. For a wild moment, he almost hides it from the maid, as proof that the night before had actually happened, before he snaps himself out of it. 

He really needs to get a grip. Fast. 

*

Alice is less than impressed by the slow start to the day. In retribution, she has him in meetings or reading briefing documents almost all day. Q is almost grateful for it, at least he has an excuse to avoid Eliot. No, he doesn’t want to avoid him, he just needs a little bit of time to sort his own head out before he sees him. Otherwise, Quentin is going to come across as extremely desperate.

As a part of his ongoing effort to not to seem that needy, Quentin stops by Ted’s room rather than hunting Eliot down for answers. He can hear Teddy singing halfway down the corridor, it's sweet in the way that most children’s voices are. Quentin smiles. 

Rather than interrupting him immediately, he waits for the song to be over, watching his son dance around the room, belting All I Want for Christmas. Each moment of watching Teddy grow is better than the next. One of the things Eliot deserves the most thanks for is reminding him that the ordinary stuff is the most important. 

“You don’t sound half bad there, Teddy-bear,” Quentin says, leaning against the doorframe. 

Teddy’s head whips around. “We were warming up to it in rehearsal earlier, and it’s been stuck in my head all day,” His son says sheepishly “And everyone asked me to go sledging after tomorrow. Can I go?” he finishes in a rush.

Teddy finally making friends with his peers is another thing Eliot deserves credit for. 

“Well, do you have time?” Quentin asks, mock sternly. 

“Well, I already know my part. I'm just waiting for Eliot.” Teddy says, frowning. “I'm waiting for him to want to practice together. I don't think he wants to skate at all.” 

“He’s swamped getting everything else sorted,” Quentin says carefully. “I’m sure he’ll have time to skate with you tomorrow anyway, there isn’t that long until the performance now.” 

Teddy seems to accept the answer, more interested in telling Quentin about every single thing Fray had said that morning. He lets it go for now but makes a mental note to find Eliot later. 

Its late into the evening when Quentin goes looking for Eliot. After some good-natured cajoling – proving Eliot has absolutely told her everything – Margo had sent him in the direction of the ice rink which was not entirely where he was expecting to find him. Teddy had been adamant that Eliot did not want to skate and Quentin is inclined to believe him. 

The thing that is growing between the two of them is fostering an accelerated sense of familiarity, he’s pretty sure, but Quentin can feel the cacophony of emotions tearing at Eliot each time he talks about the ice and the accident. If anyone other than Teddy were supposed to be skating with him Quentin would be inclined to give him a complete pass, even, but it is Teddy, so Eliot needs to get his shit together. 

Q isn’t entirely sure what his plan of attack will be, possibly something angry, or insistent. He is a king, after all. Infinite possible conversations spin in his head as he makes his way downstairs. 

That plan evaporates when he finally reaches the stands. Through the walkway, he can see Eliot poised at the edge of the ice. Skates on, but his feet firmly on the ground. Quentin can see the tension in his arms, braced on either side of the entry. He holds his breath for a moment, expecting Eliot to step forward, but he doesn’t move. He just stands there, breath clouding in front of him as he stares out onto the rink. 

Q feels like he’s intruding. He knows that he should probably leave, but he can’t move either. 

They both stand there and time stretches out between them. 

Finally, Quentin makes himself break the silence.

“What are you doing?”

Eliot jumps at the sound of his creaky voice, he turns his head towards him slightly, curls brushing against his cheek. He gives Quentin a barely-there smile before turning back to the rink. His eyes are sad. 

Quentin walks to the edge of the rink and stands by his side silently, so they’re both staring out at the ice together, foggy breath mixing in front of them. 

Its several long moments before Eliot speaks again. 

“Going over the pageant choreography in my head.” 

Q swallows hard before replying. “Why in your head? Why not just skate it?”

He turns towards Eliot, waiting for the answer, watching the small furrow between his eyebrows deepen as he considers his response. 

“I tell myself that even though in my dreams I'm on the ice, and every time I hear music, I envision myself doing a routine, I still tell myself I'm okay not skating.” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head back slightly. 

Quentin is reaching for his hand before he has fully registered the impulse to do so. He holds it tightly, hoping the grip is grounding somehow as he waits for Eliot to continue. 

“—Agreeing to be in the pageant, working with Teddy, it's made me realise how much I miss skating. It’s like, this…” He waves his free hand in front of his chest. “This weight I’m carrying around, but I'm still so fucking scared to get back out there. Every time I try, I just end up standing here, too cowardly to step on the ice.” 

He finds his chest twinging in sympathy. The pain is written in his face, in the slope of his shoulders. It makes him seem smaller, more vulnerable than Quentin thought possible. He wants to reach into Eliot’s chest and pull all of the broken parts back together. 

“What are you scared of?” He asks carefully. Eliot seems surprised at the question. It brings him up short for a moment. 

“I… I guess I don’t want to get hurt again. Physically I’m all healed up from before, there’s no medical reason why I can’t skate just as well, other than my shocking lack of fitness I suppose.” He looks down at their joined hands for a moment, before continuing. “I ju—I just know that I couldn’t handle it again. I’m too scared of failing to even try.”

“I get that.” 

Eliot stares at him out of the corner of his eye, the edge of his mouth pulling into a smile. 

“I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“—You know, I'm terrified to be king. But I can't not do it just because I'm afraid.” Quentin cuts him off. “Teddy deserves a better role model than that. I deserve to give myself the chance to be better than that. Maybe you should try the same thing.” 

Finally, finally, Eliot turns to face him properly. He’s smiling for real this time. “You’re something else Q, you know that?” 

He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s cut off before he can get anywhere. 

“Come with me?” Eliot asks carefully, gesturing towards the ice, as though after all of this, he is still half-expecting Quentin to turn him away. Instead, he beams at him, hard enough to make his cheeks hurt, and nods furiously. 

“Just—Give me a second?” He waits for an acknowledgement before turning to the storage box and pulling out his own, barely used skates. His hands shake enough that it takes a couple of tries to lace them up entirely. Then he’s standing, slightly unsteadily in front of Eliot. 

This time it’s Eliot who takes his hand. They both breathe deeply before moving forward onto the ice. For a moment they’re both a little clumsy, but then Eliot is pushing forward, his whole body relaxing into the movement. Quentin tries to keep up with him for a moment before letting their hands drop. 

Eliot barely seems to notice. He’s completely transformed on the ice, limbs moving fluidly, each movement deliberate in its grace. Quentin feels something inside himself loosen. 

With each lap of the rink, Eliot accelerates, smiling widening as he goes. Then he breaks away from the edge and begins a routine of some kind, spinning and leaping in sweeping arks around Quentin. By the end of it, laughter is bubbling out of his mouth.

He skates towards Quentin and sweeps him into a bear hug, spinning them both around as laughter continues to bubble from his chest. It makes him feel dizzy. The spinning yes, but also the heat coming off of Eliot’s chest, the smell of his aftershave and the feeling of Eliot’s nose buried in the hair behind Quentin’s ear. Finally, they come to a stop, still caught in an embrace, staring at each other. 

“Thank you,” Eliot says finally. “I never thought I’d do that again.” 

Quentin is about to respond, flippant comment resting on his tongue when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Just like that, Eliot retreats all at once. Quentin is left reaching for his phone, ready to silence it and pull Eliot back towards him, but one glance at the screen shows him Alice’s face. He holds it up to Eliot so he can see the contact information, before answering. 

Alice is saying something important about the ministers, but Quentin isn’t listening properly. He’s staring at Eliot, the perfect clean lines of him, the width of his shoulders, fairy lights playing on his face. He wants to step forward, catch his face in his hands and kiss him until they’re both breathless. He wants a repeat of the other night. Instead, he mouths an apology at him, waiting for Eliot’s soft smile in return before skating to the edge of the rink.

“Give me five minutes, I’ll meet you there.” He says to Alice before hanging up. 

“Sorry” He turns to Eliot, who is still stood on the ice he’s expecting something, any hint of protest, but none appear. Instead, Eliot shakes his head with a fond smile. 

“Go, we can’t have the nation falling apart without you.” 

There are so many more things Quentin wants to say, but he doesn’t have the time. 

As he leaves, Eliot starts to skate a familiar routine again.

*

Something feels different when he wakes the next morning. There’s an energy buzzing under Eliot’s skin from the moment he cracks open his eyes, though it takes him a couple of minutes to remember why. Then he tries to sit up, and a familiar ache shoots through him, a twinge of overused muscles. The night before comes back to him in a rush. 

The memory of being on the ice – of being on the ice with Quentin, a traitorous voice whispers – is enough to have him smiling all morning. 

Margo notices almost the second he sits down for breakfast. “Someone is looking chipper this morning.” 

She is slouched at the breakfast table, nursing a large cup of coffee. 

“No reason not to be, Bambi, it’s a wonderful day.” 

Her eyebrows pinch together. “Did you get laid again last night?”

“No” Eliot replies unhelpfully. 

“Well something happened, and I’m not about to play twenty questions so you’d better spit it out.” Her words are sharp, but the tone is fond. 

“Nothing really, I just went over the routine on the ice a couple of times, I think I’ve got most of the basics down, but I’m gonna need to go over it a couple of times with Teddy this afternoon.” He’s proud of how steady his voice stays. So steady that it takes Margo a moment to fully appreciate what they mean. 

She wants to make a big deal of it, he can tell. She also knows him better than anyone else on the planet, so she knows not to. Instead, her face breaks into an honest smile, there’s pride shining in her eyes. 

*

The days disappear into nothing as Eliot finds himself busier and busier. He wants to take the time to seek Quentin out, maybe so they can have a conversation, also possibly for other reasons as well. It feels like someone is intentionally keeping them apart. 

Before he knows it, its two days before the pageant and they still haven’t spoken. He doesn’t really mind though, something is exciting about the anticipation of it. That being said, if the opportunity presents itself, Eliot won't say no. 

An opportunity like right now. 

Quentin is stood on the terrace outside Eliot’s bedroom window, staring up at the sky. He looks carefree, all of the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. For a moment, he thinks about leaving him be, letting him have this moment to himself, but Eliot isn’t entirely that selfless. 

He grabs a coat and heads for the stairs, forcing himself not to rush in his excitement.

The terrace is as decorated for the holidays as the rest of the palace, a large tree in the centre and soft fairy lights wound around the bannisters. It gives it an almost dreamlike quality. There is a light dusting of snow from earlier, but now the sky is clear and full of stars. 

New Jersey never has skies like this, there’s too much pollution and artificial light. There must be hundreds of stars, bright and twinkling down at them. 

“Wow” he announces himself. 

Q whips his head around and greets Eliot with a bright smile. 

“Fillory is famous for its night skies.” 

“Is that why you have a star on your flag?” Eliot asks, coming to stand next to him. 

“Partially,” Quentin nods “but my father always told me that the star on the flag is actually the Christmas star. You're familiar with the story...”

Eliot waves him off with a grin “Very well by now.”

“Well, the legend says that as the night fell, Jane and Martin followed the Christmas star and guided the villagers back to safety.”

“I didn't think the Christmas star was real.”

“I don’t know. My father used to explain it as like a personal guiding light, something inside of us.” Quentin frowns contemplatively. “He used to say that if I was ever lost and didn't know which way to go, I could come out and find the Christmas star and it'd guide me home.”

It’s a sweet story. Eliot can see it appealing to Q as a child, indecisive and apprehensive of the future. 

“That's what you're doing out here. Looking for guidance.” It’s not a question. 

“I guess I am.” His brow furrows again. Eliot wants to reach out and smooth it with a kiss. He wants to hold Q until he shares all of his problems. 

He keeps his hands to himself and waits for Q to continue. 

“You know, I don't always know how to be king, so I come out here, and I find that star and try and remember who I am, what I want, and what I love.” 

What do you want? Eliot wants to ask. He doesn’t. 

“What star do you imagine it to be?” He says instead. 

“That's easy. It's... It's that one.” Quentin points at a cluster of stars to their left. 

“It's that one?” Eliot asks, deliberately pointing at the wrong one. 

“No, no.” Quentin swats at his hand before taking hold of it and pointing it in the right direction. “It's...that one there.” He pauses and then looks up at Eliot, eyes widening in shock. 

“Sorry.” He moves to pull his hand away, but Eliot holds on tighter. 

“Don’t be?” He says softly.

He could kiss him right now, and Q would let him, but the moment feels too intimate somehow. A kiss would cheapen it somehow. 

Instead, he pulls Quentin into his chest in a hug, arms around his midriff, resting his chin lightly on his head. 

“It’s good to remind yourself what’s important sometimes,” Eliot says finally. 

Q reaches out an arm and pulls Eliot’s arms tighter around himself. 

“Yeah.” He says lightly. 

Neither of them speaks again for a long while, they just stand in their embrace, staring out at the stars. 

For a long moment, it’s as though they are the only people in the world. It’s perfect. 

*

Getting Eliot a gift was a stupid idea. Quentin is barely able to buy gifts for Julia, who he has known his entire life. The delicate Christmas tree ornament he is in the process of wrapping doesn’t feel big enough, though he is painfully aware that anything more would absolutely be too much. 

Ever since the other night, the natural dynamic they had settled into was removed entirely, replaced instead by the memory of Eliot’s mouth on his or his hands roaming Quentin’s body. There was no middle ground any more. Each interaction had been stifled by thoughts he can’t give life to, not before Eliot knows what he is committing to.

“Do you have a grievance with that parcel, Q?” 

Julia’s voice breaks Quentin away from his thoughts. The offending parcel remains on the table in front of him. One of the many Christmas related skills he has never mastered. 

Admitting defeat, he offers it to Julia.

“Would you like to try?”

Julia nods, before sinking into the seat next to him. 

“- What is it?” She asks, eyes focused on the skilful movement of her hands. 

“- It's a little something for Eliot.” 

Julia looks up at him sharply. 

“He's leaving soon, so it's the least I could do.” Quentin continues “After all, he produced the pageant, helped with the staff Christmas gifts.” Each word that leaves his mouth feels like a confession. Though to what Quentin is unsure. 

“- Teddy really loves him and...” 

“- And you have feelings.” Julia interrupts.

“What makes you think I have feelings?” Q counters delicately. 

She fixes him with a look. “The article in the paper, Quentin.” 

Ah, the fucking article. The nation’s press can always be relied upon to know more about his love life than Quentin does at any given moment. 

He must look panicked at that because when she speaks again, her tone is gentler. “Q, relax. You're allowed to have feelings. No one's gonna judge you for it. In fact, people will like you all the more.”

She is making sense. Quentin hates it when that happens. She’s making sense, but only because she doesn’t get it yet. She can’t understand it, how could she when Q barely does himself. 

“- Eliot’s leaving.” The defence sounds weak even to his own ears. 

“I've heard there's this miraculous invention called the aeroplane.” 

The sarcasm is unnecessary.

“-You could go there, he could come here.”

If he were any other man, with a regular job, he knows he would do it in a heartbeat. 

“It's, ugh, Jules he doesn’t- He can’t… It’s just not that simple.” He stammers. “He can't imagine how difficult this whole situation is.”

“No, you're right. He can't imagine it, so you're going to have to tell him.” Julia pushes the present towards him and moves to stand. “I know this is scary Q, but you’re never going to have a future with Eliot, or with anyone, if you don’t let them in. The press can be fucking ruthless sometimes, but everything about those articles was supportive. And if they’re ever not we can just set Kady on them and watch them burn.” 

Quentin can’t help but laugh at that. 

“Q – Look at me” her hand tilts his chin upward gently. “Eliot is a big boy, he’s dealt with the national media before. Just do him the courtesy of being honest before you write the whole thing off, hmm?”

He nods solemnly once. “I think I can probably manage that.” 

“Good.” Julia leans down and kisses his forehead. “I know this is a lot, so I can just leave it…” She trails off. 

“No, you’re right. I should talk to him.” Once he says the words his body is hit with a massive swell of adrenaline which makes his heart rate kick up a gear. 

“I could go find him for you?” Julia asks 

May as well get it over and done with. Quentin thinks to himself. The longer he leaves it, the more likely he is to chicken out in the end, and Eliot is going in a couple of days. 

“Yeah. Thanks, Jules. For everything.” 

Julia beams at him as she turns towards the door. “Don’t fuck it up Coldwater.” 

Right. 

Quentin takes a deep breath. Don’t fuck it up. 

*

“Okay, first run-through in five,” Eliot yells into the dressing rooms.

Julia appears at the end of the corridor, a slightly manic grin plastered on her face. 

“Eliot, Q is asking to see you. Office. Now!” Julia spins him around and begins to march them both towards the door. 

“Now?” Eliot whines “We're about to do our first run-through, and I know it’s going to be a disaster.” Not that he doesn’t want to see Quentin, but now is hardly the ideal moment for it. 

“Well, I can take over for you for a bit,” Julia suggests with an innocent smile on her face. “You aren’t needed on the ice for the first couple of scenes anyway. I get to pretend I'm in charge. Mustn't keep the king waiting. Win-win.”

“Thank you.” He caves. Years of friendship with Margo have taught him enough to know when he is being outmanoeuvred. 

Eliot takes the stairs up to the King’s office. It’s very inconvenient, but Quentin summoning him makes Eliot feel a little sappy. 

There’s no one in the outer office when Eliot gets there, so he walks through without pausing. Quentin doesn’t notice him when he enters the main office; instead, he is staring at the tree they had decorated dreadfully last week. The lights are twinkling slightly, casting a glow against his skin. Eliot has to touch him, he can’t help himself. 

“- Hello,” Eliot says, sliding an arm around Quentin’s waist, briefly resting his cheek against his hair. For a moment, the king stiffens in surprise, before he melts into Eliot’s embrace. Something in his chest goes soft at the natural affection of it. It feels practised like they could do it every day for the rest of their lives.

“- Hi,” Q replies gently. He allows their position for a moment more before standing upright again. He steps forward to his desk and reaches for the newspaper, flipping it over, so the front cover is visible. 

“I didn't know if you'd seen this.” He asks, presenting it to Eliot. 

Most of the front cover is taken up by a large photo of the two of them, Quentin is halfway through explaining something, judging by the position of his hands, looking up at Eliot. Eliot who’s whole fucking heart is clearly displayed on his face. It brings him up short. 

At the top, the headline reads ‘King of Hearts’. Eliot has no idea how he is supposed to react to it. 

“I didn't.”

“What do you think?” Quentin asks slowly. 

“I think the photographer got my good side?” Eliot tries for a joke and wins a soft smile in response. 

“I like that about you.” 

“My photogenic angles?”

“Your ability to see the good in everything.”

“Because you don't see the good in this.” It should be a question, but it comes out more like a statement. Something heavy is gathering in the pit of his stomach now, he already knows he isn’t going to like the answer. 

“It's just not so simple as a flirtation when the country's watching and Teddy is growing attached, and you're leaving.” 

Eliot shifts his weight away from Quentin as his words register fully. 

“I understand it's not so simple a flirtation.” He says sharply after a moments pause. 

“- That's not what I meant.” He says quickly, but Eliot can hear everything buried under his words now. It’s not so simple a flirtation when I have a kid. It’s not so simple a flirtation when you’re an American. When you’re a man. Eliot saw what the tabloids did to Meghan, he has no intention of walking into that, thank you very fucking much. This thing between them, whatever it is, or could become, it’s only just started. If it is going to be a problem, then ending it makes sense. 

There is absolutely no reason this should hurt that much. 

“- It's okay. It’s true.” Eliot tries for nonchalance, though he’s pretty sure he misses by a mile. “That's, that's all it is. You're a king, and I'm...leaving. So what else is there to say?” 

Quentin tries to speak again, but he doesn’t get the chance. 

“I should get back to rehearsal.” 

Eliot turns away when he feels tears burning at the corner of his eyes as he walks back to the rink, ignoring Quentin when he calls after him. I can’t believe I was actually considering staying he thinks desperately. His skin feels stretched thin, and there’s a dull ache settling behind his eyes. 

*

That conversation had not gone the way that Quentin had been anticipating. In fact, that might have been the actual worst-case scenario. Quentin had slumped at his desk when it became evident that Eliot was not returning and hadn’t moved since. 

He is still sitting there, head in his hands and trying desperately to figure out why he had fucked up quite that hard. Eliot’s words—You’re a King, and I’m leaving—circling over and over again in his head. 

Quentin wants to ask him to stay, to pause whatever plans he and Margo have and just stay here, teach Teddy to skate, give them a chance to fall in love. Quentin would fall in love with him, given enough of a chance, that was certain. He could feel it in his bones. 

Maybe he just doesn’t feel the same way. He thinks. It seems ridiculous the first time, but the longer he turns it over in his mind it makes more and more sense. The whole time they had known each other it has been Quentin dragging Eliot along with him—and Teddy, but Q can’t let himself think about that one for too long. Being in the spotlight like this is a lot for anyone. As King, Quentin can’t escape it, but the people around him are a different matter. Ari always said it made her feel like she was living in a fishbowl. She never said anything to Quentin directly, but he knew it was one of the parts of their marriage she hated. 

Eliot is already well aware of the problems that came from being in the public eye. He has also had a front-row seat to see just how little time Quentin has for the people who matter to him. He knows too much and is far too sensible to be swept up in the fairy tale idea of royalty. Eliot values his freedom above pretty much anything else, freedom he would absolutely lose if he stayed with Quentin. In the face of all of that, leaving was the sensible choice. The only option really. 

Quentin is just incredibly naive for thinking otherwise. 

More than that he’s foolish for letting his own feelings get this far. He is a king, there are hundreds of things to concern himself over. His love life hasn’t been one of those in years, and there is no reason to change that now. Not if Eliot doesn’t feel the same way.

*

Eliot remains in a haze for the rest of the day. He makes it through the motions of the rehearsal without completely ruining everything, If he makes a couple of comments that are a little too harsh that can be explained away by the tight schedule, though Margo keeps shooting him concerned looks. 

By the end of the day, they are starting to approach something that is performable. Teddy had been amazing. Getting to know the other kids has done wonders for his confidence, and from there, his skating has been getting better and better. Pride flares in Eliot’s chest watching him as they prepare to leave for the day. He doesn’t have much right to it, but it persists nonetheless. 

Leaving Teddy is going to suck. 

Eliot swallows around the emotion rising in his throat. It makes his eyes burn. Now is not the time to break down. It’s Founders day tomorrow and Christmas eve the day after. Margo and Eliot had been planning to stay in Fillory for Christmas, maybe even push their luck and wait until the new year, but there doesn’t seem to be much point now other than to rub salt in his wounds. He mentally adds, looking up flights to his to-do list. 

Mostly he just wants to go to sleep. 

Margo had been giving him space while they were rehearsing, but it looks like that was a temporary deal because she’s waiting for him at the door to the rink when he finally leaves. 

“D’you want to tell me what’s going on?” She asks. 

Eliot doesn’t. 

“That was a rhetorical question dipshit, spill.” 

“There was a photographer.” He says haltingly “When we bought the Christmas tree the other day. Seems Q wasn’t too thrilled about the angle the papers went with.” 

Margo’s eyes widen in shock as her mouth tightens in anger. 

“I can’t believe him.” Margo says outraged, “Especially with Julia and Kady—” 

“–No Bambi” Eliot cuts her off quickly. “It was nothing like that, the stories are fine, Q didn’t have a problem being seen with me because I’m a guy. He has a problem being seen with me because he doesn’t intend for this to be anything serious. If the papers are talking about it, then Teddy is gonna get his hopes up, and we couldn’t have that.” He smiles at her sadly. 

“Eliot…” she sighs. 

“He was very nice about it, it just seems like I read too much into everything.” 

Thankfully she doesn’t press the issue much further. She only asks “What do you want to do?” 

“I… I think we should go home,” Eliot says. 

She nods. “You go to bed baby, I’ll get everything sorted with Alice, okay?” 

Eliot is overwhelmingly grateful for her, all of the time but especially today. He wants to force it into words somehow, but they won’t come. They don’t need to, Margo knows. 

He just pulls her into a long hug. Tears prickle at his eyes again, and this time he lets a couple of them fall. 

*

The pageant comes around quickly. Most of the next morning, they are all about to vibrate out of their skins. It is the most nervous that Eliot has ever been in his entire life, but he at the same time he almost can’t feel it because it keeps getting knocked out of the water each time Quentin looks at him.

It turns out that he had absolutely no reason to be worried. The skaters are all in time, the set looks beautiful. Teddy hits every beat of the performance perfectly. Eliot is so overwhelmed by how proud he is of Teddy that his own performance barely comes into it. 

By the afternoon they’re all running on a massive high from the performance when Alice pulls him aside. 

“Hey,” He smiles at her. 

“Hi, listen I spoke to Margo last night about finding the two of you flights home tomorrow.” Eliot goes cold all over at her words, but it’s also a bit of a relief. “I managed to get the two of you booked onto a flight in the morning, so you should both be home well before dinner.” 

It’s good news. Eliot knows that its good news, but it does make the ending of all of this final in a way Eliot hadn’t quite been anticipating. That’s not Alice’s fault, though. 

Eliot nods and forces a smile. “Thank you.” 

“I can tell Margo if you want, so you can go and pack up.” Her words are careful, and Eliot can tell that she knows more than she’s letting on. He is immeasurably grateful for the exit route. 

He smiles again, genuinely, this time. “Thanks for everything, Alice, you’ve been amazing.” 

“Damn straight.” She replies, and they both laugh. If it’s a little watery, neither of them will mention it. 

What Eliot would like to do at this point is shrink into the corner and not speak to anyone until they leave tomorrow, but he owes them more than that. He owes Teddy more than that for sure. 

The ideal plan would be to tell Teddy alone, but after the excitement of today, that is unlikely to be an option. Instead, they tell everyone at dinner. The reactions are mixed. 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Teddy asks them, voice small. It damn near breaks Eliot’s heart to hear. 

“Yeah bud, we need to get back to our own Christmas.” 

Quentin doesn’t say a word. He looks like he’s been hit over the head with a baseball bat, in all honesty. Eliot isn’t sure if that’s good or not until he reminds himself that Quentin was the one who didn’t want him. Besides, Eliot wanted to leave. He and Margo have been planning for the Ice rink for years since the accident really, giving it all up over a man is the most ridiculous idea. 

He’s making the right choice. 

If he repeats it enough times, maybe it’ll start to sound true. 

*

Somehow Eliot hadn’t considered that Quentin would come and see him. If he had considered such a thing, he wouldn’t have imagined it like this. Imaginary Q would storm into the room, talking a hundred miles a minute like usual. He would say something earnest about having a change of heart and beg Eliot to stay, and Eliot would forget all of the reasons it was a bad idea. 

Real Q was quiet. The silence was stretching out between them in the entryway. Any time now, he tells himself, Any time now something will happen to change your mind, to convince you that you can stay. The idea is thrilling and terrifying, so of course, he decides to smother the ember before it can catch and swallow him whole. 

“I can’t stay here” He almost whispers. The words feel like they are taking the air from his lungs as he says them “and it’s not you. I promise it’s not you, I just– I can’t deal with the gossip and the scandal, and knowing it's making your life harder… making Teddy’s life harder. It’s all of this. Everything but you.” 

I’m so sorry he thinks I wish it were different. I wish you came without it and I could spend the rest of my life with you and your son. I wish I could know you as I’ve come to know you. Have the courage to stand next to you in all of this and not be afraid. I wish I had been smarter and never let it get this far in the first place. 

Quentin reaches for his hand and holds it tightly. Two hands wrapped around Eliot’s larger one. It makes something sharp burst in his chest “I am a part of all of this” The King reminds him. As if Eliot might have somehow forgotten. “this is what my life looks like… what being with me looks like. I… I understand that it’s not that appealing.” 

“Quentin I—”

“I’m grateful” Quentin cuts him off “ for everything you’ve shown me, for Teddy. Thinking it could last was just me being… you know. Unprofessional.”

Q’s huff of laughter knocks all of the air out of Eliot’s lungs; almost breaks him in half. 

“I wish I could find a way,” he tells Q’s tie pin, knowing that it’s a lie. There is a way, Eliot is just too terrified to take it. He thinks Quentin knows this too. 

The silence is returning, twisting between them and stealing the words away from him. A part of Eliot wants to say more, but the words won’t come. Eliot wonders if they even exist. He wants Quentin to beg. He’s still so fucking selfish. 

Q is the one who speaks, something about making sure El and Margo have everything they need from the market before they go. This is the last time you’re going to see him like this Eliot thinks and suddenly the fact that they’re not kissing seems unbearable. 

It’s a terrible idea he knows, but terrible ideas have always been a Waugh speciality. 

Eliot’s kiss cuts Quentin off mid-sentence. It’s not their finest kiss, that was certain. Their noses press together at a slightly weird angle, one of Quentin’s hands is trapped between their bodies, but the spark is still there. 

“Oh my God, Coldwater, you are the most infuriating man I have ever met in my life.” Eliot pants. 

“What was that for? Q asks breathlessly. 

“Still asking stupid questions I see,” Eliot grins at him. 

Q’s eyes flick down towards Eliot’s flushed cheeks and red lips before wrapping a hand around his collar and pulling. 

The second kiss is deep and slow. There’s no rush or desperation in it, just a feeling of incredible belonging. One of Eliot’s hands finds its way to the king’s cheek. Eliot lets himself run a thumb across his jaw and for a moment he’s on the verge of tears from the intimacy of the moment, how familiar it is. Overwhelmed, he lets himself shift, and reach out to grab the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. 

Quentin’s hands reach for his hips, pulling their bodies close together. Eliot presses him into the brick wall, his hands are suddenly everywhere as though he thought they might be torn apart at any moment. Eliot wants to reassure him he isn’t going anywhere soon, but he also doesn’t want to stop kissing him, even for a moment. If they stopped now, maybe there wouldn’t be another opportunity to feel this. 

Instead, he pushes Quentin in the direction of the doorway. If they are going to make this mistake, then Eliot wants to do it properly. He would burn himself to the ground just to stand in this warmth for another hour.

From the second they are back in the bedroom, Eliot completely loses track of any sense of time. Instead, he sinks into the feeling of having Q in his arms again. 

When Eliot rests his hand on Quentin’s neck, Q practically melts into the touch. He looks up at him with impossibly soft eyes. 

“Sweetheart…” Eliot trails off, not quite sure what to say. There is an edge of something close to desperation in Quentin’s eyes this time. It’s reassuring to know that in this at least he isn’t alone. 

“Please, El” Q begs.

Eliot tugs at Q’s hair again. 

The effect on his partner is instant. With a slight shiver, Q arches up into the pressure. A whole world of possibilities is reopening to them in the non-existent space between them. Eliot tilts his head in careful amusement, cataloguing all of the little reactions. He pulls harder and smiles when Q’s teeth dig into his lower lip as he gasps around an almost inaudible moan. 

Eliot would do almost anything to hear the sound again. 

He moves his hand into the hair at the nape of his neck and tugs, gently at first, before getting harder until he had Quentin’s head pulled back and his throat exposed. Eliot had to mouth at the base of his neck, scratching his teeth over the join of his shoulder. Quentin’s breath hitches; Eliot grins. 

“Please El” Q murmurs as his hands slide further up his back, pressing his nails lightly into his shoulder blades. In retaliation El lets one hand skirt up his side, glancing over the sensitive spot on his waist that he knew would have Q squirming deliciously in his lap. 

“It’s okay baby” he whispers in his ear before licking a line down the column of Quentin’s throat, then kissing a trail back up to his ear. “We’ve got all the time in the world”, He rocks up into his obvious erection. 

Eliot can’t even make himself feel bad about the blatant lie. This is the last time you’re going to have him repeats in his head on a loop. 

The whole thing is poorly thought through. It’s rough where they should be soft and painful where it should be sweet. Despite this, Eliot feels a tiny piece of himself snap into place. He’s done, they’ve come full circle. He can let this feeling stick him together and pull him apart all over again; break his heart and remind him it’s still capable of beating. 

“So mean” Quentin’s laugh pulls Eliot’s focus away from his maudlin thoughts. Q shifts so that he is more securely positioned in Eliot’s lap. He seems to notice that something has changed because he cups Eliot’s face gently, before pulling him into a fervent kiss, grinning against his lips when Eliot let out a soft, needy moan. 

Tentatively El pulls on Quentin’s hair again. It is enough for him to wrap around his fist. Enough to jerk Q’s head back, though he’s careful not to pull too much and hurt his neck. A louder moan fills the space between them, it prickles over Eliot’s skin, and Q’s eyes flutter shut again. 

“Do that again” He rasps “Please El.” His hands flutter across Eliot’s shoulders. 

Eliot can’t stop himself from running his fingers through Q’s hair, pulling lightly on individual strands, “Please” Quentin whines. This time Eliot is more than happy to oblige. He wraps his hand back into his thick hair, and he tugs sharply. Again, Q moans beautifully, but this time he melts into Eliot’s embrace completely, and El has to tighten his free arm securely around Q’s waist to keep him from slipping. He presses his lips into his neck in time with the tugs, mouthing a bruise low enough that it could be hidden the next day. 

“I can’t believe how much of a thing this is for you” Eliot whispers when Q grinds their hips together messily, hot and hard and still fully clothed. He is falling apart further with each pull. Moans and whimpers falling from his lips without restraint, lips moving as if he were mouthing a prayer. Perhaps he is. It certainly felt like a religious experience to Eliot. 

His hand settles on Quentin’s neck again, and Q leans into the touch. Eliot rubs his thumb over the stubble burnt skin, just above his collarbone, pink and shiny with sweat and saliva. Q glares at him, as much as he can with his pupils blown as wide as they were. 

He arches up into Eliot’s fingers, demandingly. Eliot huffs out a laugh before pulling him into another kiss, harder than the last time. A moan gets strangled in his throat. The rattle of his breath is accompanied by him grinding his hips desperately into Eliot’s thigh again. Eliot laughs at him in the way Q loved the last time they did this. The type of laugh that brings a heated flush to his cheeks and leaves him a begging needy mess in the end. 

“Shush baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you” Eliot glances down at him reverently, eyes roaming, trying to catalogue as much as he possibly can. 

He reaches for Quentin’s fly. He can feel Q’s erection pressing against his hand, hot and insistent. He fumbles clumsily at the zip, suddenly desperate to feel the warmth of his body under his hands. Before he managed to get any further Quentin is batting his hands away and starts removing the trousers himself. 

It takes Eliot a long couple of seconds to process exactly what is happening, too caught up in the amount of skin that was suddenly on show, but then Quentin reaches for his shirt, and Eliot lets himself fall into the heat between them. 

*

It’s only in the silence that follows that Eliot can think clearly enough to realise what a horrible mistake he had made. Falling in love with Quentin when he was untouchable was something he could do. 

Quentin is a king. You can love a king from a distance because they’re more than the sum of their parts. Kings are brave, and just, and they can shoulder the world's problems. Men like that are meant to be admired, but you can’t get too close; otherwise, you start to see the cracks in the facade. 

Quentin the man and Quentin the King really aren't that different, he is brave, but in small everyday ways.

The weight of Quentin’s head against his chest is almost suffocating now. Not for all of the ways, it made Eliot want to run, but for all of the ways, it made him want to stay. He’s seen underneath now, and somehow it was better than he could have imagined. 

Quentin would break his heart. Of that, Eliot was sure. 

The idea of giving up this feeling, the sheer joy of waking up holding Quentin feels almost unbearable. The idea of having it torn away is somehow worse, so he needs to step away from this now before it has the chance. 

Eliot had only known him for a few weeks. Packing all his feelings away and continuing on with his life as planned is a totally doable thing. With time he can reduce this feeling down to a particularly thrilling holiday romance. The intensity would fade as soon as he got on the plane: now he just has to make himself believe a word of it. 

If he were smart, Eliot would get up and leave. Return to his own room and finish the last of his packing. Nobody has ever accused Eliot of being too smart. Instead, he curls back against Quentin, arms tightening around his partner’s waist. He can probably pretend, just for a little bit longer that there really is something here. 

The dream shatters when Quentin stirs. It takes a moment of adorable blinking before the reality of the situation settles on the both of them, and Q sits up. 

“I’m still going” Eliot murmurs, staring down at the point that their pinkie fingers touch. 

“I know. I just wanted to…” Quentin looks lost for words, he looks down at his hands. 

“I’m glad we did. Really.” He can’t bring himself to voice any of the things he wants to say. Take care of Teddy. Take care of yourself, go to bed at a reasonable time. Don’t let this break you. I love you. I love you. I love you. There are so many things Eliot should say, but they all get stuck in his throat instead. 

“Don’t let the plants die.” 

Quentin lets out a full-body laugh. For a moment it feels like freedom, before a chasm opens in Eliot’s chest, one that he doesn’t think will be closing any time soon. 

“I’ll do my best.”

“You mean, Alice will do her best.” 

“Touché” 

“I just wanted to give you your Christmas present.” 

He gets out of bed and pulls a box out of his coat pocket, it’s wrapped in gold paper with a large bow on the top. 

“Thanks.” 

They smile at each other for a couple of seconds. The tension is slowly easing into something if not more comfortable, then steadier. The sort of thing Eliot can carry around with him. 

“If you’re ever stateside and, erm…” 

“Not kinging?” 

“Not kinging, yes,” he grins, looking up into Quentin’s eyes, “do stop by.” 

That’s it. That’s all they have to say. Q leaves with a sad smile and a lingering kiss to his forehead. 

Eliot is alone again. 

He breathes. 

*

Quentin wakes before his alarm the next morning. He feels surprisingly fresh and less surprisingly emotional. He dresses slowly, breathes and tries to remember some of the relaxation techniques his dad taught him. 

It’s cold, and it’s going to snow again soon. It might be a result of the general mood, but the cold feels different, the snow feels threatening where it once had been beautiful. The magic vanishing from the castle around him. For once, Teddy seems to agree. He is sullen and withdrawn from the moment he comes downstairs for breakfast. 

Eliot and Margo do join them eventually. Jules and Margo keep a steady stream of conversation going. What time the flight lands, the difficulty of finding a proper Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. Quentin could kiss them both for filling the silence. 

When it’s time for them to leave they’re all there- Julia with Kady on her arm, Alice standing stiffly and Penny, in his full Chauffeur get up, as he will be taking Eliot and Margo to the airport. 

Quentin stands there, dark coat over a darker suit, the collar pulled up against the cold. He is standing still like a pillar watching everyone else say their farewells. 

If he relaxes he’s sure he will make a fool out of himself. 

He exchanges a glance with Jules, who inclines her head. She is probably trying to convey some kind of meaningful message. Q can’t be bothered to decipher it. It’s likely something along the lines of Are you just going to let this happen? 

Of course, he is. There is no other choice at this point. Eliot cannot stay, being here will break him, as it broke Ari and his mother. Quentin must let him go. 

Kady ushers Teddy towards Eliot and Margo. He flings himself at Eliot, snuffling wetly into his shoulder. He can’t hear the words exchanged between the two of them, but he can see the gleam in Eliot’s eyes. Quentin looks away. 

Margo smiles at him gently as they say their goodbyes. She extracts a promise from him to write her often, before turning to his son. 

Eliot. 

A handshake, of course, a handshake. He thinks Eliot meant it to be fast. Relatively painless. Instead, both of the king's hands came up to cradle Eliot’s right. They end up standing there, holding onto each other as it begins to snow. 

“Thanks” He chokes out “For… you know” 

Eliot nods 

You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Eventually. 

He says none of that. Eliot knows anyway. 

The slight warmth is gone the second Eliot pulls his hand away. He nods at him. Ever so unflappable as always. His smile is gentle and only a little bit pained, and Q nods back. His throat aches. 

Quentin desperately wonders if there is anything he can do to stop this. In his heart, he knows there isn’t. He’s made his attempt, hasn’t he. If it could be called that. Last night, knowing deep down that it was too little, too late. He had crossed the floor from his office to the guest rooms, knowing all of the reasons that it was foolish and unnecessary hurtful for both of them. Eliot had said I’m glad and Q wished he had been lying. 

For a moment, in the middle, he had thought that it might be enough. That he could fix this somehow. He had known, form the moment he had woken that he had been a fool. Eliot knew better. “I’m still going.”

“I know.” Quentin had replied, “I just wanted to…” 

What? Make sure I hadn’t dreamt you up. Know that you were real before you fade away forever.

For once, Eliot doesn’t say anything. He simply nods at Margo and then turns to collect their bags. 

He doesn’t say anything. He watches stoically as they get into the car. He pulls Teddy into his chest, and he can tell he is crying silently. 

They both stand there as they watch the car travel down the long drive, even when the others return to the palace. It takes forever for the car to crawl down the driveway. The further it travels from the palace, the duller Quentin feels. Tiny fingers close around his hand, and Teddy peers up at him, tears clinging to his eyelashes. He’s not sure where the strength comes from, but somehow Quentin makes himself smile, placing a hand on his shoulder, then another ruffling his hair, like Quentin used to do when he was small, and Teddy buries himself in Q’s coat. 

“We should go inside,” he says “I’m sure Kady has lots of stuff planned.” 

Teddy doesn’t look convinced, but he follows Quentin inside anyway. Teddy looks equal parts sad and exhausted, even though it can’t be later than ten in the morning. He scrubs at the tear tracks still on his cheeks, and it makes Quentin’s chest constrict painfully. 

Teddy moves to join Kady, but before he gets halfway, he turns back to Quentin. “You’ll still come to dinner tonight right, Dad?” 

“Of course Ted, now off you go.” 

He watches him leave, slipping his hand into Julia’s. It's only once they go that the noise of the palace rushes back in. Quentin finds himself stood in a daze as people push past as if nothing has happened. 

Nothing has happened Quentin reminds himself sternly.

“Q” Alice’s voice jolts him away from his thoughts. “You’ve got a call waiting in your office.” 

“Right” 

Quentin wanders through the hallways quickly, mechanically. He wonders to himself if this is how it will be again now. One day to the next, barely breathing in between meetings and dinners that he’d rather be spending at home. He wonders how long it will take before he stops expecting to see Eliot around every corner, seeing his face before he left, tired and pale with mussed hair and slightly chapped lips. He wonders if he ever will, or if Eliot will simply join the ghosts that follow Quentin through the castle. 

Arielle had made it so easy to be a father. She knew exactly how to love him, she had made him better. Sometimes you need to do things for you, Quentin. You don’t have to do the sensible thing all the time. Quentin hadn’t realised how much of what she’d taught he’d forgotten or ignored. 

Will, he ever stop feeling like he was digging his own grave, the more he does the right thing, the more sensible decisions he makes?

*

It’s snowing when Eliot and Margo land at Newark. Not the fluffy, magical snow of Fillory, but a sleety heavy drudge that browns almost as soon as it hits the tarmac of the runway. It makes Eliot feel cold, even though they haven’t left the warmth of the plane. 

Margo is having none of his shit. She was sympathetic enough as they left the palace. She had grabbed his hand as the car left the gates, and held on tight for the whole journey, staunchly pretending not to notice the silly tears gathering in his eyes. Nobody knows him better than his Bambi. 

Perhaps it would be healthier to have a long talk with feelings and all of that shit, but it never has been the way that they work. They both know that the only thing to do is to keep pushing forward. If he stops now that both know he would break. 

The gap between Christmas and New Year’s Eve seems to be moving slower than normal. The past couple of weeks have been so filled with doing, that the lack of schedule feels impossibly empty. 

On their first night back Margo tries to drag him into the city for one of their nights out. The whole evening falls flat, and Eliot returns alone early. After that, she makes him go to brunch, or join her at a new salon she absolutely has to try. It’s, for lack of a better word, comforting. Normal. 

He hates it 

He really tries to start with. Eliot tells himself he’s on the right track. All he needs is time to remind himself of the shape of their lives here. He tells himself it is stupid to miss Fillory, they were hardly there long enough to get used to it in the first place.

It’s just that thinking about the future, and turning the past over and over again in his head is inevitable with this much free time. They can afford the Ice rink now. Eliot knows that Margo has been talking to the real estate agent about one in particular. He thinks she’s making plans to see it in the new year, she definitely wants to speak to him about it, but he can’t bring himself to begin the conversation. 

The plan doesn’t seem as appealing now. Eliot can’t tell if it’s because he remembers what it is like to skate now, in such glorious technicolour, or if it’s because this plan doesn’t include Q. He hates that he isn’t sure. He wonders how long it will take before he stops expecting to see Quentin around each corner, he wonders how long it will take before he stops seeing Teddy in every child he teaches. 

The problem, he decides, watching Margo as she does her makeup, is that he never thought he would need anything other than this. Just Bambi and himself. The problem is, he’s never been brave.

It’s New Year’s Eve tomorrow, finally. Maybe after tonight, he can start the business of getting on with everything. 

*

Alice is working at twice the energy she usually does. It’s a little terrifying. Quentin knows she’s worried about him, she just can’t say anything. No one will. No one except Teddy. 

He asks a couple of days after Eliot and Margo leave. Quentin is tucking him into bed, just as he has done every night since they started planning for the gala. Teddy is quiet, he has been since Christmas, but that evening he speaks only when Quentin asks a question, and even then he’s monosyllabic. He keeps chewing on his lip like he used to do when he was tiny. 

Finally, he asks “Why did you let Eliot leave?”

It’s not like Q hadn’t been expecting the question, but it still brings him up short. “It, well, it didn’t seem like my place to ask Ted.” 

“But don’t you love him?” 

“I – I’m not sure that’s exactly…”

“Dad, don’t be stupid. I remember how you used to look at Mama, you look at him the same.”

Quentin finds that he doesn’t have anything to counter that with. 

“When did you get so smart, huh?” He asks. 

“Aunt Kady says it’s all her influence,” Ted replies with a cheeky grin. 

“Oh, I’m sure she does.” Quentin pulls his son into his chest and rests his chin on Teddy’s curly hair.

“Can’t you go after him?” Teddy asks. “I think you’re scared, but you don’t need to be. If you asked Eliot would come back.”

“I can’t,” Quentin replied steadily. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

He hadn’t actually promised anything of the sort, not out loud anyway. But it might have been easier if he had. 

Teddy sighs and slumps against him and Q holds him tightly. He can’t let himself think about it too much. This life isn’t what he wants. He reminds himself. The more he says it, the more it sounds like an excuse. 

Despite what he tries to tell himself, he can’t get Teddy’s questions out of his mind. 

*

Eliot Knows that he should be throwing himself into New Years. It’s what he usually does, and getting back to normal is what he’s trying to do. Instead, he is on Skype to Teddy, absolutely definitely not hoping to catch a glimpse of Quentin in the background. It’s approaching midnight in Fillory, but it’s only early evening for him. Margo is supposed to be coming over later. 

“I went sledging with Fray earlier,” Teddy tells him excitedly. “We’re going to start training for next season soon, you have to come and see us!” 

Eliot knows he’s barely given himself time to adjust to America again, he isn’t even over the jetlag, but he wants. He wants to teach Teddy all the things he wished he’d known at that age. He wants to be back in the castle. He wants to see Q again. When I’m brave he thinks to Quentin it’ll be because of you.

“I just might” he finally answers. Teddy squeaks happily. There is a strange look in his eyes, one that Eliot can’t quite decipher. Something is going on, but he’s not in on the joke yet. Teddy starts talking again before he can ask, mouth running off at a hundred miles a minute, about all of the things he just has to show Eliot when he comes back.

Eliot looks at his watch and does some time zone math in his head. “Ted, what about the time? Don’t you have somewhere you need to be? I’m sure Kady is looking for you.” 

“No no,” Teddy replies quickly “We have time. I want to talk to you a bit longer.” His puppy dog eyes are just as convincing as ever. 

“Tell me about America, what’s the weather like?” Teddy ploughs on. 

“Its… horrible actually” Eliot replies “It’s been raining all day, don’t really want to go out in it, to be honest.” 

At that moment, his buzzer rings. 

“Oh, sorry Ted, that’s probably Bambi, I’m just going to go let her up.” 

Teddy looks at him intently “Eliot, go answer the door.” 

Eliot looks at him strangely for a second before he gets up and walks towards the door, pressing the button to let Margo up. His brain is trying to tell him something. His heart too, judging by the way it is hammering out of his ribcage. There’s a knock at his door. It’s wrong. Bambi doesn’t knock, she’s had a key since he moved in. 

He walks to the door in a kind of trance. He fumbles with the lock on the door, and then the chain. He’s cursing as he finally yanks it open.

It takes a couple of seconds for his brain to catch up with his eyes. It’s clearly still raining outside because Quentin’s coat is soaked, rivulets still running down the woollen lapels, dripping down from his hair. He’s smiling slightly. 

He’s real, there in New Jersey, pale and wet. 

“Uh—Hi,” He says, and Eliot’s response is something between hello and a sound of disbelief. 

“I—Teddy” 

“I know” Quentin ducks his head “We had a deal.” 

“A deal?” Eliot asks weakly. 

“It was Ted’s idea. He wanted you to help him keep Fray in line” Quentin explains with a slight smile. 

I could be hallucinating Eliot thinks. He reaches out a hand to poke Q’s shoulder. He almost expects it to go right through him. It doesn’t. 

Q reaches up and grabs Eliot’s hand. “I let you walk away,” He says gently, tenderly “and so I’m here to admit… I’m admitting defeat really. I’m falling in love with you, and I want to get the chance to do it properly. My feelings aren’t going to change if you stay, but I had to ask.” 

Eliot is speechless. “I… I was gonna come. When Teddy asked, I said yes. I want to be brave Q.” 

Quentin breaks into the most beautiful smile. It lights up his entire face. “Good,” he says quietly. 

“Should you be here?” Eliot asked suddenly. “I mean, what if someone sees you?” 

“Well, I’m kind of banking on the fact that no one expects to see a king in New Jersey.” 

Least of all me Eliot thinks, and then he feels it, the exhilaration. He’s coming alive again. He looks down at the space between their feet, watching as Q takes a small step closer. 

“Eliot.” 

He looks up. Q’s eyes are large and worried. Eliot takes his face in one of his hands, Quentin’s cheek is wet and slightly rough with stubble. It’s perfect. 

Eliot doesn’t know how long they spend in the doorway, kissing. It could be seconds, or hours but Eliot finds that he doesn’t care. There is nowhere else he would rather be. 

Finally, they break apart. “If you can’t do this…” Quentin says carefully. Eliot shakes his head vigorously. He can do this. He will do this. For Quentin, for Teddy, he will do this. Even though he is terrified. 

“Shut up Q.” He says and pulls him into another kiss. 

They stay there for a while, revelling in being so close, but there is only so long you can stand in your doorway, making out before it starts to become inappropriate in a communal building. 

They move back into the living room. Teddy has hung up on their Skype conversation, thank God. Eliot makes a mental note to call him again later. 

The reality of having Quentin in his apartment is finally sinking in. It feels strange. 

Q is pacing around the room, inspecting his shelves, he pauses at something and Eliot cranes his neck to see what it is. 

“You haven’t opened your Christmas present.” He says finally. 

Ah. 

“I wanted too,” Eliot says truthfully “but it felt like the last bit I had of you, I didn’t want to waste it.” 

Q smiles at him sadly. “You can have as much of me as you want.” 

“Do you want me to open it now?” Eliot asks. 

“Sure.” 

Q hands him the present. It feels intimate, opening it in front of Q. Eliot could get used to it. 

He unwraps the paper carefully, taking care not to rip it at any point. Once that is done, he carefully opens the box. There nestled in tissue is one of the Christmas tree ornaments they had put on the tree in Quentin’s office. It is Eliot’s favourite, though how Quentin could have known that he doesn’t know. 

“Q,” Eliot says breathlessly.  
“I wanted you to have something that would remind you of me, wherever you ended up having a Christmas tree of your own,” He says bashfully, looking at his hands. 

“Do you like it?” 

“Do I like it?” Eliot replies, incredulously. “It’s perfect, you ridiculous human.” 

He pulls Q into another kiss, careful to move the ornament out of the way of the crush of their bodies.

When they finally break apart, Eliot rests their foreheads together. 

“Do you think you have room in that palace of yours for another Christmas tree?” 

Q breaks away from him as he laughs, bright and beautiful. 

“I’m sure we can fit one in somewhere.” 

Things between them aren’t entirely resolved, not by a long shot, but this is a start. A very good one. If nothing else, Fillory has all of the ingredients for a pretty spectacular permanent show.


End file.
